What can be said of living and working in a brothel? Nothing new, truly. Was Anna well fed? Yes, she was. Did she sleep in greater comfort and warmth than she had ever known? That, too. But did she ever become inured to the degradation, shame, and remorse of selling her body for these benefits? No, for a certainty she never did. Oh, after the first dozen men had come and gone, the sharpness of her self-reproach had dulled, the essential sameness of the act became merely a part of her experience and not a new shock every time. But never did she become embittered or accustomed to her lot. She came to accept it, was resigned to it, but always there was a fierce pride in her, a core of strength and goodness that never left her.
Max had been very persuasive and Anna so very hungry. She was exhausted, at the end of her natural resources. That her very first client was only a hazy memory dulled by her enervation and slight inebriation (also at Max's behest, naturally) was inevitable. His claim thereafter that such a fallen woman had only one career path ahead of her that did not involve jail or the poor house or death seemed horrifyingly sensible. Max was not the most disreputable of pimps, as it turned out. Though possessed of a violent temper, it rarely expressed itself in physical damage, and never was that directed at Anna. Some of the other women of the house said that Max feared damaging the merchandise and no doubt there was truth to this. But he was fiercely protective of his "girls" and would not allow their misuse at the hands of even the most well-heeled client. The house was kept clean and the larder well-stocked.
Anna had very little memory of the parade of men who came through her rooms. Some stayed in her mind longer than others: the fearful little priest, the domineering captain of industry who broke down in tears, the corpulent one who seemed in so much emotional pain. And then there was Sir Ambrose. Sir Ambrose was an older man, with white, wispy hair and a slight build. Though he dutifully carried out the acts for which he had paid, he seemed, like so many of the men she serviced, to be more lonely than otherwise. He was always kind to Anna, soft-spoken and easy in his manners. He made her small but luxurious gifts; when he discovered that Max liked to take these for himself (to sell, no doubt), he became more angry than Anna was ever to see him again and stormed from the room. After that, the gifts remained in her room, untouched.
Though she took every precaution then available, eventually the inevitable happened and Anna became pregnant. It goes without saying she had no idea who the father might be, nor did it particularly matter. On hearing the news, the other women of the house began to tell her all of the remedies she might try, about the abortionist in the next street who could help her. It soon became evident, though, that Anna had no intention of giving up her child. Max ranted, scolded, and threatened, but to no avail. He had never thought that Anna could be so strong; she turned to a pillar of rectitude whenever the subject turned to her unborn child. Finally, with a sigh, Max let her know that, though there were certain men who would pay for the privilege of tupping a pregnant ewe, there would come a time when she would once again find herself on the street, this time with a little child to fend for as well as herself. If he had expected begging, pleading, fear, he got none. Anna stood a little taller and merely said, "We shall make do."
(Chapter Four is here.)
Max had been very persuasive and Anna so very hungry. She was exhausted, at the end of her natural resources. That her very first client was only a hazy memory dulled by her enervation and slight inebriation (also at Max's behest, naturally) was inevitable. His claim thereafter that such a fallen woman had only one career path ahead of her that did not involve jail or the poor house or death seemed horrifyingly sensible. Max was not the most disreputable of pimps, as it turned out. Though possessed of a violent temper, it rarely expressed itself in physical damage, and never was that directed at Anna. Some of the other women of the house said that Max feared damaging the merchandise and no doubt there was truth to this. But he was fiercely protective of his "girls" and would not allow their misuse at the hands of even the most well-heeled client. The house was kept clean and the larder well-stocked.
Anna had very little memory of the parade of men who came through her rooms. Some stayed in her mind longer than others: the fearful little priest, the domineering captain of industry who broke down in tears, the corpulent one who seemed in so much emotional pain. And then there was Sir Ambrose. Sir Ambrose was an older man, with white, wispy hair and a slight build. Though he dutifully carried out the acts for which he had paid, he seemed, like so many of the men she serviced, to be more lonely than otherwise. He was always kind to Anna, soft-spoken and easy in his manners. He made her small but luxurious gifts; when he discovered that Max liked to take these for himself (to sell, no doubt), he became more angry than Anna was ever to see him again and stormed from the room. After that, the gifts remained in her room, untouched.
Though she took every precaution then available, eventually the inevitable happened and Anna became pregnant. It goes without saying she had no idea who the father might be, nor did it particularly matter. On hearing the news, the other women of the house began to tell her all of the remedies she might try, about the abortionist in the next street who could help her. It soon became evident, though, that Anna had no intention of giving up her child. Max ranted, scolded, and threatened, but to no avail. He had never thought that Anna could be so strong; she turned to a pillar of rectitude whenever the subject turned to her unborn child. Finally, with a sigh, Max let her know that, though there were certain men who would pay for the privilege of tupping a pregnant ewe, there would come a time when she would once again find herself on the street, this time with a little child to fend for as well as herself. If he had expected begging, pleading, fear, he got none. Anna stood a little taller and merely said, "We shall make do."
(Chapter Four is here.)
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