Chapter Nine – New Faces, New Names

The Road into Sardes – 1875

The heat really is beginning to get to me. My skin of my tiny feet is cracked and broken from the dryness and is coated in a layer of crusty mud and sand. I feel disgusting, even more so after my encounter with that man on the road. Thank God for the man who calls himself the Daroga. I am thoroughly in his debt, though I know not how I will ever thank him truly or make it up to him.

As I draw closer to Sardes, I see many peddlers and other vendors lining the road every half-mile or so. They try and draw me in with their silly falsehoods about how amazing their product is, but I ignore them completely. I have a place to be, a life to create, and I cannot busy myself with such trivial things.

Finally, Sardes comes into full view, glimmering in the sun as if it is underwater. I sigh tremendously, collapsing onto the dirt path just to admire the city. It isn't much, but it will be home, at least for the foreseeable future. My eyelids start to droop, so I stand up, fighting against the sleep that threatens to overwhelm me. I've gotten little of it since I fled Paris, and my body aches for the hours of rest it deserves and hasn't received. Maybe I don't deserve it after all.

My feet cause little puffs of dust to spring from the ground in uneven gritty clouds. I rub my eyes with the back of my hand but they still itch from the sand. I must keep going. Sardes! It's right there! I must reach it!

My determination and willpower fail. Legs giving out from under me, I fall unceremoniously to the ground in a heap, a dirty bedraggled heap. Tears form in my sand-burned eyes, spilling down my dirty cheeks and drying before being able to fall off my chin. "Raoul," I whisper to the wind, turning my head upwards. "Raoul, are you up there? I'm sorry Raoul! I've failed you…"

The world starts to go black all around me. There is a much darker shadow moving closer and closer, but I cannot make out what it is. That is the last I can distinguish before my whole world turns the color of pitch.

Later…

My eyes flutter open, still gritty from the sand. It takes a few minutes to adjust, and I see many spots of multicolor swirling around in the air in my range of vision. My hand responds to me as I move it to rub at my eyes, but some outer force stops it in its path. A soothing feminine voice, as if from far away, says, "Do not touch your eyes. It'll only make it worse."

I blink to try and rid myself of the sandy residue in my brown orbs, but it works not the tiniest bit. Realizing that I have the strength to move, I sit up fully and yelp in soreness. How long have I been asleep? "Water…" I manage to gasp, only then realizing that my voice is sore and hoarse.

Immediately I find a flask in my hand and the same voice says, "It isn't water, but it'll do for now." Taking a gulp of the liquid in the flask I cough and choke on it; this is certainly not water, not even fine wine as I'm used to! "Ah, I see we have intolerance for alcohol." A hand reaches out and draws the flask of liquor from my grasp. "We'll have to fix that."

Finally, I open my eyes fully, squinting against the light and through the haze of grit impairing my vision. "Where am I?" I stutter.

"You're on the road into Sardes, my lady. I saw you collapse from heat exhaustion and didn't want to risk moving you." I look at the woman kneeling beside me, the one who offered me the flask of liquor, the one who advised me not to rub my eyes. "Are you feeling better?"

"I…I'm fine," I manage to say, my voice choked. "Who are you?" I inquire, a little curtly.

"My name is Indira and I live in the Shah's harem. Here, let me help you," she interrupts herself to help me up off of the ground. Indira, as she calls herself, is a bit taller than me with slightly older looks. Her eyes are a glorious hazel, her skin a perfect light cocoa color, and her dark, silky hair lies in plaits down her back. I brush myself off as she asks, "What about yourself?"

"My name is Christine," I say, a little nervous about lending my name to a stranger. "Christine de Chagny, née Daaè."

"No need for formalities such as those," Indira reprimands me with a flourish of her hand, as if blowing my formal speech away. "Where do you hail from, Miss Christine de Chagny, née Daaè?" she jests, poking fun at me and my polite Parisian ways.

"I am from Sweden by birth but I lived most of my life in Paris, most recently Chagny." Indira does not seem much affected by my connections to Paris nobility, my dear Raoul's family, but, then again, who would take notice to the infamous de Chagny family in Sardes? "What about you?"

"Well," Indira starts, "I was born and raised on a small farm just outside of Sardes, in that direction," she says, pointing out past the edges of the city on my right. "My parents and siblings died in a fire about twelve years ago, and I came into the city where I was found by the Khanum in the Shah's harem. She took me in and here I am!" she finishes, acknowledging herself.

I realize now that we have started walking in towards Sardes, the hazy city growing clearer to me now that my eyes have cleaned themselves out a bit. "I can take you with me to the harem, if you wish, Miss Christine. We have food and clothing for you and I'm sure that the Khanum, as well as the other girls, would love to hear some stories about Paris. That's all right with you?"

"Of course! Any willing gift of hospitality is welcome to me. Are you sure it isn't a burden upon this Khanum? Or the Shah?"

Indira chuckles. "Believe me, my dear; it is no problem at all."

Later…

The streets of Sardes are crowded, the little avenues bustling with life. Vendors' carts are vibrant with cloth in every shade imaginable, some glittering in the mid-afternoon sun, the jeweled embroidery catching many an eye. Indira leads me through the maze of streets into the heart of the city, trying to keep us in the shadow of some taller buildings for my comfort. I thank her gratefully, but she replies again that it is nothing.

"Fresh dates! Fresh nuts! Fresh fruits of all sorts! Come and get your fresh food!" A vendor shouts at me, grabbing my arm. "Well, missy, wouldn't you like to buy some figs?" He juggles some large figs in my face before Indira pulls me away.

"No luck with her, Murad!" Indira calls back to the vendor. "She's with me!" Before the vendor, Murad, can say more, Indira has dragged me along a new street and out of his sight. "Ignore Murad, Christine. He's an old fool who wants to sell more than just fruits." I ask no questions, saying nothing about her vulgar comment. I am not at all used to such colorful language being used in everyday conversation like it is nothing, and with somebody you barely know, nonetheless!

"Indira, my love!" shouts a man from one of the alleyways off of the main street we walk on. "I haven't seen you in days!" He grabs Indira from me, crushing her to his form. "Can't you tell how much I miss you, Indira?" he jests, pressing her tighter against his lower body in a way that I've only ever heard of in the sickening romances the ballet rats used to read.

"Affan, really now!" she responds, pressing a hand to his mouth as he leans down to do God knows what. "That can wait!"

"When can I see you?" he asks, his voice pained.

"Ask the Khanum and set up a time, damn it! Just because you know me well does not mean that I can break the rules for you! Now get!" Affan drops Indira and she shoos him away with a sweep of her hands. "Really!" she says under her breath so only I can hear. "Men think that they can just waltz up to me and take me as they will. No sense of the Rules!" Again I do not ask questions, fearing the answers I may be told.

Indira leads me down some more side streets until we have reached a large stone palace. I gape at the sight of it, but in no time at all Indira has led me around the structure, through some gardens and to a door in the side of the building. She pulls the heavy door open and gestures for me to make my way inside. I do so, a little wary, but glad to be out of the fierce heat.

The inside of the stone building is cool and dry, and my feet feel instant relief from the chilled tiles laid on the floor in an intricate pattern. "Follow me," Indira says as she leads me deeper into the building, our feet making soft pattering sounds that echo along the walls of the corridor we're in.

A maze of passages ensues, drawing me into the heart of the stone fortress, into the harem of which Indira speaks. I've heard of these harems, the residences of the wives, concubines, and other mistresses to a man, in this case the Shah. I do not fear it, for I know that they may sometimes take in girls from the outside merely to live with them, and I hope that will be all they ask of me.

The corridors suddenly open up into a cavernous chamber laden in rich, jewel-tone fabrics and low furniture. Around me are many women's bodies all lying asleep on soft mats strewn across the tiled floor. Indira ushers me over to one corner, a corner where there is a large array of pillows and plush mats. Buried amongst the softness is a sleeping woman's form. From the looks of it, she is decadently dressed and very nice looking, much like Indira, but older.

I am instructed by Indira to stand calmly and silently where I am, and my escort in turn walks up to the woman and nudges her awake. She lets out a little squeal before noticing the face of Indira. "Praise Allah, I thought you a sneak! My darling Indira, what's the matter? You received the fabrics I told you to fetch?"

"Yes, of course, Chi, but I found more than just the fabrics." She moves to the side, allowing the woman a view of me. I stand timidly, playing with my fingers and dragging my toes along the floor.

"What have we here?" the woman says softly, rising gracefully from her plush throne. "A Western girl?" Indira nods as the woman acknowledges my light skin.

"Her name is…" The woman makes a shushing sound to Indira.

"Let her tell me her own name, Indira. She must be assertive. Say your name, child, so that the whole harem could hear you."

Taking a deep breath, trying to give myself presence in the room, I say, "Christine."

"Christine…"

"…de Chagny, née Daaè." The woman smiles.

"I see we have a Western socialite on our hands." I find blood rushing to my cheeks at her comments. "Well, now you've introduced yourself, I shall introduce myself. Or, maybe I should let my dear Indira say it for me, as she does so well." It is Indira's turn to blush.

"Christine, this is the Khanum of the Shah's harem." The Khanum makes a clicking sound in Indira's direction.

"Indira, if she is to live with us she may as well call me by my name." She turns back to me. "You may call me Chandra, Ma'am de Chagny."

"Please," I interrupt, "call me Christine." Chandra smiles.

"I see you've learned your assertiveness, Christine, but that name will never do, though I love it immensely. Outside of the harem you will be known as Risa. It is much more becoming for a woman here than the name of the Christian Father. You are a Christian?" she asks me.

"A devout one," I respond sheepishly, a little ashamed.

"I do hope that not praying to Christ won't bother you. After all, you'd never have come here if you were that devoutly religious." I nod. "Good, Miss Risa. I am glad to have you here." The new name stings my ears like knives. It sounds so…so…foreign! Chandra snaps her fingers. "Lalitha and Lakhi will show you to your quarters." Two other women about my age come to greet the Khanum and me, both curtsying in their native garb. Chandra mutters something to them in a foreign language, and they beckon to me to follow them.

As I leave, Indira mouths to me, "I'll see you soon." I follow the women, Lalitha and Lakhi, into the chambers beyond the great hall. They direct me into a large room complete with intricate vanity and bed, along with a few mirrors and a wardrobe. The taller of the two says, "The washroom is down the hall to your right. You may go when you please. Oh, I'm Lakhi," she says, her voice very peppy and happy, "and this is Lalitha," she adds, acknowledging the shorter woman.

"We're so glad to greet you," Lalitha mentions. "We're sisters, actually. We were orphans and the Khanum took us in. Isn't that sweet?" I nod politely.

"I'm Christine, but the Khanum wishes me called Risa outside of the apartments," I state plainly.

"We heard," Lakhi responds, nodding emphatically. "Well, we'll leave you to get changed. There should be a few garments in the wardrobe."

"We'll check in on you later!" Lalitha says as the sisters take their leave. As soon as the door is closed, I collapse onto the low-lying mattress, soaking it all in. I am in the Shah's harem of Sardes in Persia. What would Raoul think of this?

Later…

I don't realize that I've fallen asleep until there is a knock at the door, rousing me. I stand up and hurry over to the threshold, opening the wooden barrier to see Indira. "May I come in?"

"Of course!" I say kindly, letting my new friend in. She closes the door behind her and walks over to my wardrobe. "What're you doing?"

"You really should get used to what you'll be wearing around here. What you've got simply won't do!" She does not have to state that for me to be aware of it. I've known that my clothes won't do anywhere in this part of the world for weeks now. "Here," Indira says, tossing a tangled mass of rich purple fabric at me. "It should compliment your skin and hair nicely."

"I…don't know what to do!" I admit, holding out the fabric. Indira sighs and comes over to me. She motions for me to spin around. I do and she starts unlacing the back of my dress. As soon as it falls from my shoulders, she strips me of my chemise and pantalets, leaving me utterly exposed. "Indira!"

"What, you expect me to hide my eyes while you change and still offer my services of help? Not happening! You must learn that modesty is a matter of opinion around here," she reprimands me forcefully. I give in, still crossing my arms over my chest and clenching my legs tightly together to hide my most womanly place. Indira chuckles softly. "Such a European you are, Miss Risa!" I really am not taking to the new name very well.

As Indira starts dressing me, I ask, "Tell me the truth, Indira; do men come here?"

Sounding startled, Indira begins, "Only if we allow them. They usually come a few days out of the week and once a month the Shah visits personally. Most often, though, it's men from the Outside. We'd have them more often, but there are the Rules to comply to. For example, one cannot serve more than three men a day; one cannot serve men more than two days in a row, and so on and so forth."

"Serve?" I question her nervously.

"Oh, of course! How else would we make money?" I feel bile starting to arise in my mouth. Money? Serving? "Of course, there are different charges, all determined by service and rank. The highest price is obviously a full evening's worth of fun from the ante-Khanum. That's me," she says, sounding very proud of herself. "We charge based on what the service requires, clearly, as well as the lady's proficiency, rank, and, in some cases, the state of the man. It takes much more heart and therefore more money to get a woman in with a man the Khanum finds incredibly vulgar or 'unsatisfactory.' We can also charge hourly. See, paying for a service does not allot you a certain time; when the service is complete you are gone. However, a man may prefer to have a lady for a certain stretch of time in which services can be performed, but that costs extra."

I gulp. It is what I've feared; I am in a home for prostitutes. In all I'd ever heard of Persia's many harems, the women were all for the Shah's use. But not this harem, not the harem of Sardes. These women sell themselves to men off of the street. These women live every day on the money they earn for such sinful deeds. Oh, dear God please help me escape this! The ladies seem nice enough, at least the four I've met, but what they do behind closed doors…one can only imagine. And the imagination is not always a pure thing.