I groped about the cell and touched with my finger the rim of the shallow bowl of water. I did not know if, in this place, at this time, I was permitted to use my hands to feed myself or not. At times we had been permitted to do so in the pens, and, at other times, we had not been permitted to do so. I did not know what the case was here. It is well, of course, not to be too sanguine in assuming permissions which one might not have. Many were the times in which I, and my fellow trainees, had eaten and drunk on our bellies, or on all fours. Sometimes we must kneel, thrusting our faces into feeding troughs, our hands braceleted behind us. Sometimes, when we had been chained under the tables of feasting guards and food was thrown to us, we might use our hands and at other times, we might not. Many times had I, whimpering, been hand fed, putting my face to a guard’s knee. Many times had I picked up morsels thrown to the floor with my teeth. And I did not know what the case might be here. So I went to my belly and drank, lapping the water. Given what I was, that seemed safest to me. The water was stale, and cold. I did not know how long it had stood in the bowl. I fed, too, similarly, on the meal, and the crust. The slices of dried fruit I would save for later. It is not so much that I feared I might be being spied upon, or I feared that oils, or traces, of food, or such, might be found on my fingers. It was not even so much that I feared I might be challenged, later, on the matter, and my reactions, my expressions, my body, in their subtlest nuances and movements, read, to determine whether or not I was lying. It was rather, more simply, because I did not know whether or not I had the permission.

Let those who are such as I understand this. Let others not.

Too, let those who have been under discipline understand this. Let others not.

Then, from my belly, I had drunk and fed. The pieces of dried fruit I would save for later.

I wrapped myself, kneeling, in the blanket.

It was quiet cold in the cell now.

I was very grateful for the blanket.

I realized it could be taken away from me. I hoped it would not be. I did not want to lie on that stone floor, in the cold, my knees drawn up, my arms about myself, shivering, in only the tunic. Indeed, the tunic, too, I realized, could be taken from me.

What lay in store for me?

What did they want of me?

What was I supposed to do?

I did not know.

I had thought there was nothing to fear.

I had been mistaken.

I put my hand out, in the darkness, and felt the rough, granular texture of the enclosing wall, of rock.

In the cell were three vessels, one for food, one for water, and, a larger one, to my left, as I knelt within the blanket facing the bars, for wastes. The smaller vessels my have been discards from some kitchen. Both were chipped at the edges. The food bowl was cracked. The larger bowl, for wastes, was of some porcelaintype substance. None of these vessels was made of metal. There was no metal within the cell, you see, which might be used as a tool for, say, excavation. I had not even been given a spoon, not that such might have been availing. What could it have done other than scratch futilely at the enclosing stone?

I knelt there in the darkness, the blanket clutched about me.

I did not know where I was, or what was expected of me.

I was helpless in the cell. I was well kept here. I was totally in the power of others.

It was dark, and cold.

What was wanted of me?

I suddenly became very afraid.

I felt then within me a sudden body’s urgency and cast aside the blanket and groped awkwardly toward the larger of the three vessels.

In a few moments I had returned to my place.

I had reached the vessel in time. That is important. One does not wish to be punished.

I had learned to use such things, and drains, in the pens. If nothing like that was provided one waits, or, if permitted, uses the back right-hand corner of the enclosure, as one faces the rear of the enclosure.

One of the early lessons one learns in the pens is that one is not permitted dignity or privacy. I recalled the guard from the pen who had been, for some reason, unlike the others, so cruel to me, he whose whip I had first kissed. Several times it had been he who, it seemed in anger, had elected to “walk me.” Several times I must squat at the drains and relive myself before him.

Thought I was a slave I found this shameful, and embarrassing. Not before him, of all, he who was so precious and special to me, he who figured in my most helplessly lascivious and submissive dreams, he whose whip I had first kissed on this rude, beautiful world! Why did he hate me so? Why did he make me do this? Why did he wish to so grievously shame and humiliate me? Is this how he wanted to think of me, or remember me, as a foul, pathetic, meaningless little animal relieving herself upon command before him?

One cleans oneself, if permitted to do so, and this permission, because of hygienic considerations is seldom, if ever denied, with what might be available. In this cell, as was presumably intended, I had done it with straw and water. That is not that uncommon. The straw is left in the vessel. We are trained to clean ourselves well, incidentally. If we do not, we are whipped.

The slave is not a free woman; she must keep herself, as best she can, fresh, rested, clean, and attractive.

I now sat back in the cell, my back against the wall, wrapped in the blanket.

The blanket was warm, but, within it, I felt very bare, in the skimpy tunic.

Within the blanket, with the finger tips of my left hand, I felt under the skirt of the tunic. The tiny mark was there, my brand. Within the blanket I felt very soft, and vulnerable. Within the blanket I touched my throat. No collar was there.

I suddenly pressed back against the wall.

For the moment I dared not breathe.

The shape which had so terrified me but a bit ago was again at the bars. It was like a darkness among darknesses. It was standing there. I smelled it, too, now, a heavy beast smell. I heard its breathing. It thrust its snout against the bars. I heard a low, rumbling, warning growl. I pressed back even further. Then it was gone, padded away.

I gasped, shaken.

When I was sure it was gone I went again to my belly, and to the food bowl. I put my head down and, delicately, bit off part of one of the pieces of dried fruit. I then ate it, treasuring it, even that small part, bit by bit, little by little, particle by particle. Then for a long time I fed there, bit by bit finishing the first of the three pieces, and then the second, similarly, and then the third. Such things, the slices of fruit, are very precious. I had saved them for last. When I was finished, I rise, to all fours.

I had relished the fruit, dray as it was.

I was grateful that it had been given to me.

I then turned about and, for a time, on all fours, the blanket about me, faced the bars.

I heard a howling, far off. I did not know if it were the wind or some beast.

I was suddenly frightened, and lonely.

I hoped the men would be kind here. I would do my best not to displease them.

Surely they would be kind! They must be kind! Had I not been fed, had I not been given a blanket? Surely that was a kindness. My scent could always be taken otherwise. Had there not been three slices of dried fruit in the bowl?

But I had seen the great bird, I had seen the prowling beast, that fearsome guardian of narrow ledges.

I feared that men here might be strict with such as I, with their slaves.

Afterwards I lay down and slept.