The Priest (2 page)

Mauricio had never met his mother. He knew
she was a fathered woman, a lesser citizen who didn’t belong to the
pure breed race. For the greater good of Ginecea, her purpose in
life was to bear future slaves to serve the pure breeds. Fathered
women weren’t kept in captivity like the men, but they had a
limited freedom and couldn’t own property. Sometimes Mauricio
thought about the woman who had conceived him—maybe she wasn’t
evil. He couldn’t imagine her being like the pure breed guards who
had treated him like scum since the day he was born. Pure breeds
never gave birth to men. Never. They only conceive women.

Mauricio was curious about that. There were
rumors among the other men. Nobody bothered to talk directly to
him, but Mauricio heard them talking at night. Some of the men knew
things. Exactly how they knew the things they knew wasn’t
clear.

There was an older man in particular whom
everyone called Sapiente. He liked to spin tales at night. He loved
to talk and the other men enjoyed listening to his voice. He shared
several theories regarding the way the pure breeds’ precious little
girls came to be. One theory had always fascinated Mauricio.

“The Priestess is the only one who knows how
to make pure breed baby girls. She has some women helping her
called Ancillae. Pure breed couples from all over Ginecea come to
the Temple to become pregnant. They decide what characteristics
they want in the baby and then wait for the Priestess to add the
soul, which is called the incognito.” Sapiente, who had supposedly
served the fathered women who worked in a separate area inside the
Temple, used to repeat this story almost every night, managing to
keep the facts consistent, which by itself was noteworthy.

Thinking on all of this, he couldn’t
sympathize with his biological mother. Her life was a thousand
times better than what fate had dealt his father. He had lived with
him until he was six years old and was then placed in a communal
living quarter with other boys. He could still hear the little kids
cry at night, looking for their dads to come back. He had missed
his father terribly and dreamed of him often. But he couldn't
remember the shape of his eyes or the color of his hair. His dad’s
soft voice was the only thing he could recall. Mauricio could still
hear his dad singing lullabies at night to help him sleep before
the guards could complain about his crying. His voice had a warm
tone that wrapped Mauricio’s little body like a blanket.

A knock on the wall. “Hey, are you still
there?” Someone was speaking to him. He was probably another
semental, waiting for the guards.

“Yes.” Mauricio never knew what to say when
someone tried to start a conversation with him. He wasn’t used to
exchanging friendly words anymore.

“Something is wrong,” the other man
commented, and Mauricio realized that he had been waiting much
longer than usual.

“Why do you think that is?” Mauricio
hesitantly asked.

“I heard the guards complaining about a pure
breed,” the man said, lowering his voice for fear of being
heard.

“Really?” Mauricio found that piece of
information difficult to believe. Pure breeds were a loyal
race.

“The guards were outside my room and they
called the girl ‘the Presidential brat,’” the man said in an even
lower whisper.

“And why were they complaining about her?”
Mauricio asked. He liked the idea of spending some time chatting
with the man.

“They said that
the brat
is forcing
them to work double time. And they don’t like it,” the man
finished.

“Interesting,” Mauricio conceded, but
truthfully, he didn’t believe a single word the man had said, nor
did he care about their captors’
miserable
lives.
Pure
breeds could all die, and Ginecea would be a better place, if you
ask me.
Still, he was having a meaningful exchange with another
human being.

“There will be repercussions,” the man said,
his voice shaking.

“Of that I am sure.”

A sudden thump announced the end of their
brief camaraderie. The door opened and a guard faced Mauricio with
an expression that didn’t bode well; his heart sunk. The man was
telling the truth and Mauricio was going to pay for whatever was
annoying the guards.

“You… produce some more.” The guard placed
another cup on the tray, carefully avoiding touching him, even by
mistake. Pure breeds only interacted with men by ordering them
around, and when the voice commands weren't enough, they beat them.
They never touched slaves. Pure breeds were repulsed by men.

“But I have just—” It wasn’t the first time
some clumsy guard lost a tray with the specimen, and he couldn’t
help but complain. A mistake he hadn’t made in a while.

“How dare you? Do what I say, and do it
fast,” the guard threatened while showing him the whip.

He knew the guards were under orders not to
physically abuse the sementals, but he also knew accidents had
happened in the past. He lowered his head and retrieved the cup.
The guard closed the door behind her with an insult Mauricio didn’t
understand; she had a thick northern accent. He had already given
his quota and had no energy to produce more, and yet he had no
choice.

Guards had subtle ways to punish sementals
when they didn’t comply with orders. The privilege of better meals
and extra water were strategically paraded about to provoke the
other slaves’ anger, achieving their desired result: a good beating
executed by the men.

Mauricio put the cup on the tray and waited.
Again. The tray hadn’t disappeared behind the window as it normally
would, although the guard had already returned.

“Follow me,” the usual order came at
him.

Mauricio was surprised when the guard didn’t
return him to his cell. Instead, he was locked in another room.

“Prepare yourself in case we need more.” The
guard gave him a cold look and left him alone in the new room.

Mauricio sat on the floor thinking about the
inane order.
Prepare myself, again? How?
He would have
laughed, but a strong headache was looming. He simply bent his legs
and rested his face on his lap, hoping that the pain he was feeling
on his left temple would disappear.

“Is the table ready?” A woman’s voice echoed
in his room. “Are the instruments sterilized already?” the same
voice asked, after another woman had affirmed the first question.
They kept talking about other things, but their voices were lower
now, almost an indistinct buzz.

Mauricio looked around the room to see where
their voices were coming from. After a few seconds, he found a
ventilation grid and listened intently.

“The Priestess is upset,” the first woman
said loudly enough to be heard.

“I can’t blame her," the second woman
replied with a snort.

“I understand she is President Layan’s
daughter, but enough is enough. Why didn't the Priestess put the
little brat in her place?”

“It’s not that she had a choice.”

“She’s the Holy Priestess. Of course she has
a choice!”

“In this case, she didn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“Haven’t you heard of…?”

“Haven’t I heard of what?”

“There are some rumors… no?”

“No, what are you talking about?”

“There are some allegations about her
celibacy—”

“Allegations about her Holiness’ celibacy?
What heresy is that? How can you say such things?”

“Well, I wasn’t the one divulging such
rumors! It was the brat who menaced to talk. I just heard of
them.”

“I don’t believe it, not even for a second.”
The second woman sounded rather nervous. “And, you should be more
careful with what you say around here.” She paused for a long
while, and then she added, “Anyway, not even the President’s
daughter should be able to ask for a baby as if it was a new toy.
It’s immoral that she wants to have a daughter without having
married a nice woman first. If you ask me, she should be sent home
with her tushy properly dusted.”

“The Priestess thinks otherwise, obviously,”
the other woman answered dryly. “Anyway, everything is ready here.
Call for the brat.”

A few minutes passed without even the
slightest sound. Then Mauricio heard loud steps walking past his
room and into the other.

“Mistress, if you would, lie on this bed,
please.” The first woman had changed the tone of her voice
considerably. Now she was all sweetness.

“Thank you, Ancilla Bettany,” a third voice
said. It sounded gentle and young.

“The Priestess will be here shortly. Now,
I'm going to inject you with the sedative. You'll be asleep in a
few minutes. Do you have any questions?” the second woman asked in
the same sweet tone as the first.

“No, you were very exhaustive when you
explained the process to me. I am ready to conceive with the help
of the Priestess. Thank you for your patience, Ancilla Martha,” the
young woman said with a pleasant lilt in her voice.

“At your service, Mistress,” both women said
at the same time. Several steps echoed from the ventilation grid,
along with metallic sounds, and finally, a door was closed with a
gentle thump.

Mauricio stood with his back to the wall,
staring at nothing, waiting to be summoned by the guard. A few
minutes later, his eyes turned back to the ventilation grid,
wishing that it was a window opening to the other room. Then
something happened. The young woman started singing. He had never
heard a woman singing before. Slaves usually sang at night when the
darkness was too much to bear, and they sang during the day when
the guards weren’t paying much attention to them. But the singing
he heard now was different. Apart from the obvious fact that a
woman’s voice is different from a man’s, softer and sweeter, the
girl was singing with joy and abandonment. She was happy to be
alive. And she had a beautiful voice.

Mauricio had the absurd thought of wanting
to see her. He knew it was ridiculous the moment it came to mind,
but the thought kept nagging at him the whole time she sang. Her
voice soared through the ventilation grid and came down to embrace
Mauricio. She held one last note longer than he thought possible,
and then she abruptly stopped.

“We're done with you,” a guard, different
from the one who had escorted him there, announced while opening
the door.

Mauricio’s ears were offended by the
intrusion of the guard’s scratchy voice. He couldn’t shake the
memory of the melody he had just heard.

“Move.” The guard poked him with a long
stick.

Mauricio focused his eyes on the woman and
took a step toward the door. She looked like she was waiting for
him to do something. He silently cursed the woman, but didn’t give
her any reason to vent her frustration on him. Instead, he
memorized the route to his cell. They had made two right turns when
the guard’s pager started beeping loudly. She kept him at arm’s
length with the stick and paused to check the pager.

“Blast it.” She reached for her cell phone
and dialed a number with increasing worry on her face.

“Mariam reporting.” The guard’s voice was
tightly controlled, but the hand holding the stick was moving
around in wild circles. She muttered several sentences meant to
sound obsequious and then listened for a few seconds while
breathing heavily. She closed the cell phone with an angry look on
her face.

Mauricio stood there, trying to blend into
the wall and avoiding the guard’s eyes. He had learned this trick
when he was just a toddler. Normally it worked. He didn’t even
flinch when the circling stick almost connected with his
cheekbone.

“Stay there.” The guard opened a room on her
left, ordered him inside and slammed the door behind him
hastily.

Mauricio heard her stomping in the hallway,
cursing out loud and complaining that she wasn’t a fathered woman
to be used as a fetching maid, not even for the blasted Priestess.
And then, nothing. He was alone again, the door left ajar. He
stared at the door, his mind running wild. The temptation was too
great. Such opportunities didn’t occur every day. On the other
hand, the retribution for taking the opportunity would be high. If
the guards caught him.

Mauricio’s hand was on the door’s handle
before his brain could add anything to his already mixed thoughts.
He walked down the hallway and had turned left twice already when
he felt the first pang of worries knocking on his consciousness. He
put aside the feeling immediately. He walked past the door of the
room he had been in and went straight to the next door. He tested
the handle. The door was unlocked. No sound came from inside. He
looked over his shoulders. Nobody was coming. He took a deep breath
and slowly opened the door. He cautiously peeked inside and stopped
breathing altogether. The room was white, like the majority of the
rooms in the facility, but it was filled from floor to ceiling with
an array of machinery. In the middle of the room, almost hidden by
the machinery, was a young woman lying on a bed.

Mauricio shouldn’t have been surprised by
the girl’s presence. He knew a woman with a young voice had been
singing in that room. If he took the time to consider what he was
doing there, out of his designated room, he would have admitted
that his curiosity to see the girl had won over his reasoning.
Still, he was mesmerized by her. He had never looked twice at a
woman before. His guards were interchangeable. Younger, older,
fatter, slimmer, women all look the same to him: mean. The girl on
the bed looked different. She was small with long, chestnut hair
that trailed down the bed to the floor. Her face was minute with a
little nose that turned slightly up at the end. Mauricio wondered
what color her eyes were. Her skin was golden brown, while his was
olive, and she was wearing the same green gown he was wearing.
Somehow, she looked better in it than he did.