The Young Woman perused the shelves of available books open to her covering a wide range of material; she was bored already. There were so many other things she could be doing. She wanted to see more of this new society. She decided to sneak off when nobody was looking. They were looking anyways. She snuck off anyways, all sense of shame having long since faded away, being inured to being watched.
She wandered throughout the surroundings, getting a feel for the place. There were a lot more women than she was expecting. The Living Martyr must’ve been racking up plenty of bribes in exchange. There were women of all ages engaged in casual reading, women teaching, women gossiping, women walking, women running, women stirring large vats, women tending to fields, women cutting hair, women washing, cleaning and drying clothes. Everybody seemed to be busy doing something. There was only one conspicuous thing missing. A definite absence of...
“Don’t go wandering off on your own!”, a Guide called to the Young Woman. “There are several guidelines to follow.”
“Thanks for the offer, I’ll pick it up as I go along.”
“You should always be accompanied with one of our - ”
“I’ll figure it out later!”, she dashed off, leaving her escort in hot pursuit.
There were women running, women digging, women teaching, women listening, women yelling, women jumping, women stretching, women high kicking, women weight lifting, women squatting, women cartwheeling. Everybody seemed to be paired up with someone else, doing group activities. No wait, there was an outlier over there, a woman conversing with some male guards near a large ornamental iron gate. That must’ve been where they came in.
“You are free to go anywhere you wish. But we would prefer you didn’t leave.”
“Sorry, but I need more than this. I can’t live on an empty stomach. I guess I’m just not strong enough.”
“You haven’t given us enough of a chance!”
“I gave you guys a chance, and concluded it’s not for me.”
“Just remember, if you ever decide to come back, you are always welcome.”
“If I’m ever nostalgic for being cold and hungry, I’ll keep you in mind.” The outlier woman flung her meagre belongings over her back, and started walking towards the exit, guarded by twin intimidating men standing with their arms crossed. “Are you going to stop me?”
“Let her go. There’s more where she came from.”
After much reluctance, the outlier woman finally got permission to pass. Even in this society, there were plenty of rigamarole obstacles to accomplish even the simplest of tasks. Barely five seconds passed when there was a rattling at the gates.
“Couldn’t stay away for long, could you?”
The outlier woman had a haunted look in her eyes, and robotically spoke, “The outside world is a hostile place filled with spies of the Masters.”
They let her back in with layered dirt caked on her clothes. It was impressive how messy she got in such a short frame of time.
“There you are!” the Guide panted, having finally caught up to the Young Woman. “You shouldn’t... rush ahead. There’s an... order to... these things.”
“If I’m going to be introduced to these things sooner or later, it’s better if I find out all at once. Hey, what’s that over there?” she asked, already dashing off, leaving the Guide still catching her breath in her wake.
After looking at the poster for subjects available for study, the Mouthy Woman decided to switch to photography. There was only one requirement for entry - a reason for pursuing this particular subject.
“Uh’v ulwysh bin deh subjik ov deshire - mite es whel fokus un mushelf fir eh shaynj.”
I’ve always been the subject of desire might as well focus on myself for a change.
That seemed to be all that was needed to be allowed in. Entering the photography class, the Mouthy woman sat in the back not wanting to draw any attention to herself. The photography seminar was conspicuously absent, and the Mouthy Woman was rather self-conscious - she thought there’d be more people here. The lesson continued apace with no attempt to bring the newcomer up to speed, assuming everybody present was already familiar with the techniques present. There was only a perfunctory moment of going over the basics.
“Taking pictures is simplicity itself. You point the lens towards your target and expose the film for a fraction of a second. The resulting image will then be transferred to the slot for your viewing pleasure. Considering where the source of light comes from is a necessary component for choosing the best angle, and focusing will give the image clarity. You’ll want to start with stationary objects and work your way up.”
The Mouthy Woman looked around the room for photogenic objects and decided to capture one near and dear to her heart. The camera was flipped around and aimed towards her face. She’d always been photographed sans clothes in compromising difficult contortionous pretzel poses while wearing dentures. Now she was free to take as many photos of her plain clothed self wearing natural toothless smiles.
The ensuing flash was stronger than expected, and almost caused her to lose her grip.
Elsewhere, the Numb Woman was spoiled for choice, looking forward to the wide range of reading material before her. The subject matter was haphazardly organized, fiction mixed with nonfiction, arranged by what seemed like order of colour or height of book size.
She cautiously picked out a low-level reading book and flipped through the pages, not really paying attention to the contents, but to counter any wayward eyes that might be peering her direction. When she was certain that she wasn’t being judged for her reading choice, she put the book back and selected another book better suited to her taste.
She was enjoying the book immensely, eagerly devouring the contents within, but then came across a passage that made her frown. She flipped ahead and her eyes grew jaded. There were slight modifications that stood out like spotlights on a dark field. She reached for a volume she was already intimately familiar with, Exploits of the Intrepid Explorer, a book she’d read fastidiously in her youth having memorized the passages to memory. The opening paragraphs seemed familiar as usual, but delving deeper, she noticed some lines that hadn’t been there before.
Cracking open the spines to other books resulted in another wave of disappointment. It wasn’t her imagination. This wasn’t a later printing with a different editor. There had been deliberate alternations to the text. And not just in what was added, but also in what had been removed.
The Comfort Women were so engrossed in their personal studies that they completely lost all sense of time and almost missed the bell signaling their meal. Some of them had to be shaken out of their reverie to let them know it was mealtime. Everyone was gathered together, ensuring that not a single guest was left out. They were seated at a long table seating hundreds of applicants, though the long-time members presented preferred to stand behind them, whispering confidential thoughts into their ears.
“Remember what we tell you.”
“You can’t think properly on an empty stomach.”
“You can’t learn on an empty stomach.”
They were served a greenish brown soup that looked like the result of eating something unappetizing.
“What’s this?”
“This is the minimum nutritional allotment to keep the gastronomical intestines running. Be thankful - this is more than we usually get.”
Before anybody could even dig in, any attempts to take an early bite were held back until the Faithful Devoted Servant gave their blessing:
“We give our thanks to the Living Martyr for his generosity in providing us nourishment for this meal, and no thanks to the Masters for allowing such vulgarities to exist. None of you are indispensable. You all have a part to play, no matter how small.”
We hold power over ourselves
We alone control our lives
We are stronger than we can think,
Our bodies shall survive.
A member sauntered to the side and whispered some words into her ear.
“I’ve just received word - the Living Martyr is leaving on a mystical journey. We should all pray for a successful patronage and hope he’ll impart his wisdom upon return.”
The blessing given, the Comfort Women reluctantly stared at their plates. The new arrivals who weren’t finicky with their offerings ravenously scarfed down the meager portions while being looked longingly from behind by surrounding women.
“Aren’t you going to eat anything?”
“How can we eat when there’s so much pain and misery in this world?”
Guilt assuaged, the Comfort Women dug in the prepared meal. It was a bland formless sludge barely tasting of anything. If this was the kind of food they had to look forward to everyday, it was no wonder they didn’t feel like eating.
The Mouthy Woman had no problem downing the portion, having had to substitute on far harsher diets to meet the exacting standards expected of her.
“Ah shud rilly git sum riplayshmint dehntirsh shutid fir yeatin’”, she mumbled between bites.
I should really get some replacement dentures suited for eating.
“I wouldn’t get them replaced so soon”, the Numb Woman whispered back.
The ritualistic meal completed, all the new arrivals were guided to their sleep area for a scheduled nap. While everybody else got a chance to ‘get some well deserved rest for the next day’, the three Comfort Women gathered to compare notes. The Young Woman went first.
“I took a grand tour of the place, but didn’t get much of a chance to examine the surroundings, being constantly chased by somebody who kept tailing me. Whenever I entered a new place, I’d point to my pursuer and declare, ‘she’s with me’ and they’d let me through. And do you know what I noticed? Plenty of women abound doing all kinds of tasks, but no women taking care of babies.”
“Having children around would make things more difficult don’t you think?”
“What about all those beginner books on the shelves?”
“Not everybody can read, y’know.”
“I refuse to believe that someone as prolific as the Living Martyr would allow having so many women around without having a successor in mind.”
“They may not need one. I took a look at their library, parsing their passages and noticed something. Every other page now has lines devoted to the Living Martyr, always mentioned in glowing terms. And the second most common spoken subject was the Masters, always spoken in dismissive terms. There’s nary a page that goes by that the Living Martyr isn’t mentioned, including my favorite book, Exploits of the Intrepid Explorer. You wouldn’t think it’d be possible to insert another person in a first-person narrative, but the Intrepid Explorer’s thoughts now wandered to what the Living Martyr would do in this situation.”
The Mouthy Woman thought back to her lesson and recalled something the Photography Teacher said that she missed when she was experimenting with her camera:
“...and every time you take a photo, think of how the Living Martyr would enjoy this.”
“More than that, the text they’ve laid out for us is alarming. There’s extra verbiage added that plays up the importance of the Living Martyr. Whatever subject you’re reading, they’ve arranged things so that the Living Martyr is never far from your mind. And yet, for all the self-insert literature and rumors abound, there’s been very little actual sighting of the Living Martyr. Apparently, there’s some kind of qualifications we’re supposed to meet before seeing the Martyr. What those qualifications are, they aren’t saying.”
“What’re your thoughts?”
“Ih’ll tink buttir wen Uh’v guttin sum shuht-aye.”
I’ll think better when I’ve gotten some shut-eye.
“It hardly matters. Whether the Masters or the Living Martyr uses us, we’re still all just disposable pawns in a game where we can barely comprehend the rules. We’ve just exchanged one fancy prison for another.”
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