supply is diminished by a process of natural selection. The women evolve to their doom.”
“Tell me something,” she said, squinting over her cigarette, “don’t you have any qualms at all?”
“No,” he replied breezily. “I long ago decided that the universe was utterly indifferent to everything we here on earth consider among our most esteemed values. When I was nine I witnessed an earthquake. Bankers and paupers, priests and prostitutes, good men and vile rogues all fell together. Since then I have watched death claim its members with total egalitarian cheerfulness. I know, as much as it is possible for anyone to know anything, that this life is the only life there is. So I came to the conclusion that I could do anything I wanted, or could get away with. This position came about, and I took it, fully aware that I was choosing a life of Absolute Villainy. No, I have no qualms.”
“Are you one of the . . . what shall I call them . . . owners?”
“Hardly,” he replied. “I don’t even know who they are. I work for a level of executive below the highest level. And, if I may foresee your next question, I have been here three years. As far as the age of the place itself, I’m not sure. Of course, in a sense, it has been in existence from the beginning of time. The only difference now is that with increased population and intensified wealth over a larger number of people, the demand for women is greater. But slavers have been operating for as long as there have been people.”
Constance stared out at the sea for a very long time, and before her eyes the whole of history seemed to sail. Ships and caravans and the movements of tribes, carrying war and goods and gods and the eternal threat of enslavement, the making of one human being into a piece of property for another. She saw the vision in all of its ramifications, not only in the relationship between master and slave itself, but in that of lord and serf, boss and employee, husband and wife, parent and child, church and believer, politician and citizen, rich man and poor man, human and animal. Fleetingly, she thought of Chet and wondered what he would think of her disappearance. Briefly, she considered that he might guess at her kidnapping, and find a way to track her down, but in the face of the power and expertise of the organization that had taken her, anything he did would accomplish little more than to endanger his life. She would never see him again, and her eyes misted over.
“I think I’d like to go back to my room,” she said at last.
“Of course,” he replied, jumping up to pull her chair away as she stood up.
She stepped clear of him, took a step away and then turned to face him.
“I don’t know how I’m going to handle it yet,” she said. “I may accept the situation in its entirety, with all its ramifications, including the ultimate debasement of falling in love with you. Or I may kill myself. Or I may just let things slide and await my turn. Or I may try to escape.”
“Of course,” he said, “I wouldn’t have expected any less of you, including your honesty in telling me this.”
“Well, then . . .” she said.
“Au revoir,” he said, bowing slightly.
When she returned to her room, she found a large manila envelope on her desk. Before opening it she undressed, took a shower, and when she was refreshed, sat nude on the balcony, the warm sun kneading her skin, to look at the contents of the bulky envelope.
The first enclosure was a sheet of paper giving her her Parlor schedule for the following three weeks. She had four eight-hour stints each week, some in the afternoons, but most at night, and one beginning at six in the morning.
“Weird,” she thought, “any man who would be interested in S&M at that hour.”
Under that was a letter officially welcoming her to “The Villa.” It read:
* * *
Dear Constance,
From one viewpoint, the fact that we have kidnapped you and made you available for violent use by a
“Tell me something,” she said, squinting over her cigarette, “don’t you have any qualms at all?”
“No,” he replied breezily. “I long ago decided that the universe was utterly indifferent to everything we here on earth consider among our most esteemed values. When I was nine I witnessed an earthquake. Bankers and paupers, priests and prostitutes, good men and vile rogues all fell together. Since then I have watched death claim its members with total egalitarian cheerfulness. I know, as much as it is possible for anyone to know anything, that this life is the only life there is. So I came to the conclusion that I could do anything I wanted, or could get away with. This position came about, and I took it, fully aware that I was choosing a life of Absolute Villainy. No, I have no qualms.”
“Are you one of the . . . what shall I call them . . . owners?”
“Hardly,” he replied. “I don’t even know who they are. I work for a level of executive below the highest level. And, if I may foresee your next question, I have been here three years. As far as the age of the place itself, I’m not sure. Of course, in a sense, it has been in existence from the beginning of time. The only difference now is that with increased population and intensified wealth over a larger number of people, the demand for women is greater. But slavers have been operating for as long as there have been people.”
Constance stared out at the sea for a very long time, and before her eyes the whole of history seemed to sail. Ships and caravans and the movements of tribes, carrying war and goods and gods and the eternal threat of enslavement, the making of one human being into a piece of property for another. She saw the vision in all of its ramifications, not only in the relationship between master and slave itself, but in that of lord and serf, boss and employee, husband and wife, parent and child, church and believer, politician and citizen, rich man and poor man, human and animal. Fleetingly, she thought of Chet and wondered what he would think of her disappearance. Briefly, she considered that he might guess at her kidnapping, and find a way to track her down, but in the face of the power and expertise of the organization that had taken her, anything he did would accomplish little more than to endanger his life. She would never see him again, and her eyes misted over.
“I think I’d like to go back to my room,” she said at last.
“Of course,” he replied, jumping up to pull her chair away as she stood up.
She stepped clear of him, took a step away and then turned to face him.
“I don’t know how I’m going to handle it yet,” she said. “I may accept the situation in its entirety, with all its ramifications, including the ultimate debasement of falling in love with you. Or I may kill myself. Or I may just let things slide and await my turn. Or I may try to escape.”
“Of course,” he said, “I wouldn’t have expected any less of you, including your honesty in telling me this.”
“Well, then . . .” she said.
“Au revoir,” he said, bowing slightly.
When she returned to her room, she found a large manila envelope on her desk. Before opening it she undressed, took a shower, and when she was refreshed, sat nude on the balcony, the warm sun kneading her skin, to look at the contents of the bulky envelope.
The first enclosure was a sheet of paper giving her her Parlor schedule for the following three weeks. She had four eight-hour stints each week, some in the afternoons, but most at night, and one beginning at six in the morning.
“Weird,” she thought, “any man who would be interested in S&M at that hour.”
Under that was a letter officially welcoming her to “The Villa.” It read:
* * *
Dear Constance,
From one viewpoint, the fact that we have kidnapped you and made you available for violent use by a
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