The Wanderer and the Concubines

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Every time he caught a woman watching him, memories of his mother were stirred and stopped him in his tracks.

It was such a gaze that propelled him away from the Northern Brothers. 

They had been in the Indies for a month and the trio could never resist the weekly bazaar.  Market day was the day of women. Covered in saris and veils, they milled around the booths, their delicate hands touching the wares they coveted the most. 

The Wanderer and his friends drifted along the sea of feminine mystery, the scents and sounds of the women enchanting. 

Most were demure, looking away from the Wanderer and the Northern Brothers, charming them even more as they imagined the beauty of the face behind the veil. 

Then the tease along his flesh let the Wanderer know somebody was staring at him.

He scanned the crowd until he found her. He could see she must be the concubine of wealth and power from her dress. 

Her sari and veil were the color of plums and threaded with gold, while an amber pendant hung in the center of her brow. Her eyes were the same color as the jewel, elongated and lined with kohl. 

That was all he saw of her face, but it was enough. 

He suddenly remembered how his mother had looked at him for the last time and he had no choice but to follow the concubine home.

She belonged to a harem of twenty women, with six eunuchs as escort. 

The Wanderer kept a few paces behind, but he had no difficulty trailing the group. Their saris made a festival of color, billowing behind the concubines returning to the house of their master. 

The spice of their perfume lingered in the street when he stopped before the majestic residence. 

He felt foolish waiting outside, knowing his friends would taunt him mercilessly when he found them again.

Then a window opened from the top floor and the girl from the bazaar leaned out.  Her face was unveiled and she was even more beautiful than he imagined. 

Two other concubines stood behind her, their laughter piercing through their veils. The women dropped a long silken rope from their chambers to the ground, their eyes daring their admirer to climb it.

The Wanderer accepted the challenge, only to be overwhelmed with the pleasure of a long afternoon. 

He had known happiness in his life, but nothing prepared him for the embrace of the concubine. 

She took him to the edge of delirium.

The women almost refused to allow him freedom from the harem, only letting him go after he promised to return the next day.

The Northern Brothers breathed a loud sigh of relief when he returned, declaring they were convinced he must have lost his head when they didn’t see him by sundown. Their eyes widened as the Wanderer gathered his things. 

His heart squeezed when he faced them. 

“Have you lost your mind?” one of them asked.

“We weren’t joking just now,” said the other. “It will be your head on the chopping block if you get caught.”

The Wanderer hesitated, but the memory of his mother closing the door to his bedroom for the last time flashed in his mind.  

Then he remembered the earnest desire in the amber eyes of the concubine he’d made love to hours before.

“I know,” he said. “But you’ve taught me well and I promise to be careful.”

Shaking their heads, they embraced him with tears in their eyes. 

It was no less painful for him to say good-bye, for the Northern Brothers had become his family and the Wanderer knew he would never see them again.   

But he returned to the harem and drowned his sadness in the sensuality of the concubines. 

Over the next few months, he made love to them all and learned more about the ecstasy of the body than he ever would have in the brothels. 

The concubines hid him well, camouflaging their young lover as one of them, dressing him in their clothes and lining kohl around his eyes. 

When their master visited their quarters, the women circled close around the Wanderer so he would never be chosen. Fortunately, their master was in his elder years and less driven by lust. 

Thus he seldom came to the harem. 

The risk of danger carried the women to euphoric heights of madness for months, while their silken skin and heavy musk were ambrosia for the Wanderer.     

But one afternoon, he was nearly caught. 

He was buried in the embrace of his favorites, the concubine who lured him from the bazaar and her mentor, when their master came to the harem without warning. 

The other concubines were swift and cunning enough to protect them.

They convinced the old man that a few of them were devastated with violent stomach. Nobody could be certain if supper had disagreed with them, or if it was a malaise that was going around. 

Their master left in haste lest he should fall ill. After he was gone, a heavy silence fell over the harem and the fear in the eyes of the women made the Wanderer hate himself.

If he had been caught in the harem, the Wanderer wouldn’t have been the only one to lose his head.

He left them that night. 

He thought loneliness would break him apart, but met another traveler before long and their adventures were a revelation. 

And so it went for nearly four years.