Read Migrations, Volume I : Don't Forget to Breathe Page 9
They had reached the end of the street and were now standing at the top of the steps leading down to the banks of Placenta-C. The steps were made of concrete, but were caked with frozen mud.
Groups of untouchable children sat along the steps, watching an elderly Morellan woman down on the banks, sitting atop a tall chair, instruct her congregation of younger, naked, upper-class women in the Orthodox Morellan art of tantric sex. The women had their bodies stretched to difficult postures and wild contortions as the energy of the Universe flowed through their bodies and into their hormones. Their eyes closed, some shuddered as the waves of cosmic energy hit them. “Breathe! Breathe!” The old woman commanded them in an admonishing tone as she carefully stepped down the ladder of the tall chair and picked up a bowl containing the Guru’s semen and went around to each woman, touching them in sensitive areas, sometimes kissing them sensuously for the purposes of collecting from them vaginal fluid that was necessary to the composition of what was referred to as the Divine Nectar. Before moving on to the next woman, she chanted a mantra and mixed the collected fluid with the semen, using what appeared to be a shaving brush.
The other two officers stayed at the top and watched with big grins on their faces as Ottoman-13 and Bunnu made their way down the steps. “That’s the Coach over there!” Ottoman-13 pointed down at a group of three men in the river. One was wearing what—at this distance— appeared to be a snorkel, while holding his legs to his chest in the fetal position. The other two were standing on each end, gently rocking his body in the water.
“Which one is he?” Bunnu asked.
“The middle one.”
“Are you going to tell me how you know my quarter sister, then? You keep telling me how surprised you are that I can’t remember you…but you never seem to get any further than that.”
“Well, frankly speaking, I am surprised! But you’re right. I shouldn’t leave you hanging like that. Sorry, I tend to do that to people.” Ottoman-13 took a deep breath as if preparing himself to say something very difficult, “Anyway…I’m sorry I have to be the one to tell you this, but I’m the one who kidnapped Didi. The man who locked her in a storage shed for three months and tortured her on a daily basis until your parents coughed up the ransom.”
Silence.
“Did you hear what I said?” Ottoman-13 asked.
“Oh…so you’re the guy.” Bunnu said feebly after another long silence. His shoulders slumped slightly as he suddenly felt Ottoman-13’s eyes burning a hole into him.
One of the Coach’s men emerged from the water completely naked and picked up towels that had been sitting folded on a blanket. As he returned to the river’s edge, he spread the towel out before him and enveloped the Coach from the back, obscuring Bunnu’s view of him. The Coach’s men began to dry him off as he spread his arms out for them. Meanwhile, the old woman ascended the chair again as she chanted a mantra with her eyes closed, slowly lifting the bowl over her head. The congregation bowed their heads as they kneeled before the chair.
“You don’t remember, do you?” Ottoman-13 responded with a suspicious tone. “Or…rather, you didn’t notice at the time! I might have figured as much. Didi said that you wouldn’t.”
Bunnu sighed. “When did this happen again?”
When the old woman finished chanting, she opened her eyes and ordered the congregation to practice what they’d learned today.