The Females of Wadi Ya Noh. Ch. 02

And, though I was completely at Claudia's command, her ... puppet, Claudia had instructed me to obey commands given to me by any of her visiting village sisters. To treat their orders, exactly as though they were being issued to me by Claudia herself - and so carried her all-powerful authority.

I had never been inside the Asian Market before, and I could hardly make head or tail (perhaps an ironic term) of most of the groceries that Claudia and Meena selected for their shopping trolleys.

By the time Claudia and Meena had finally finished their epic shopping expedition, they had accumulated and filled 12 large shopping bags, bulging to almost overflowing with - to me - mysterious-looking groceries. "Bring the Mercedes, David," ordered Claudia, in a voice that was several decibels above what was really necessary.

But, before I hurried away to obey Claudia's haughty command, once again, I was reaching my hand deep into my pocket.

* * *

At last, it was Sunday afternoon. I had phoned Manchester airport to confirm that the Arabian Airways flight from Wadi Ya Meen was arriving pretty much on time - which it was: at 4 p.m. - and now Claudia, Meena and I were preparing to leave the house to go and meet-and-greet our very first monthly batch - "relay, as it were" - of 5 visitors from Wadi Ya Noh. Claudia told me to go out to the people-carrier; she and Meena would follow me outside in a minute or two.

Outside, I saw that my next door neighbours, Tony and Jan, were both half-covered in soap suds. They must have been messing about (as usual) whilst giving their car its weekly foamy wash & wax ... just as I used to do, with my cherished Ford Focus. Upon seeing me, Tony and Jan immediately chucked their sponges back into their wash buckets, and came over to talk to me - or rather, to question me. To get some long-awaited answers.

"Hey, Dave!" exclaimed Tony, nodding towards The Merc. "What's with the new wheels?"

Exasperated beyond measure, Jan none too gently jabbed her not-getting-his-priorities-right husband in the ribs with her bony elbow. "Tony! Never mind about the stupid people-carrier!" she chided sternly.

Turning to me, Jan mercilessly harangued me, giving me a piece of her good-neighbourly mind. "David, would you mind telling me and Tony, just - just where the hell you have been hiding, for the last three months? You told us you would be back home from your business trip, in three days. Three days, David! In time for Christmas ... In time for your flipping wedding! What happened to that? Sandra sent us a note, telling us it was all off, but giving us no explanation as to why. All off ...? We didn't know what to think. Did we, Tony? Tony ...? Tony!" Tony's eyes were once again appreciating The Merc.

Jan turned back to me again, furiously. She was getting warmed up - hot under the collar. "Oh! I could swing for you, David. I could throttle you, I really could! We've been sick with worry, Tony and me. Because of your bloody disappearing act! Just where the hell have you been, David? Couldn't you have had the common decency to at least have sent us a card; a note or something, just to let us know you were okay? We phoned your workplace, and we were put through to a Miss Susan Smith. She told us that you didn't work at Jordan's Climate Control now. She said that you had left her Company in the lurch; that you had left without even working your notice. And we haven't been able to contact Sandra ..."

At hearing the sound of my front door closing, Tony and Jan redirected their gazes at the 2 black burka clad figures who had just come out - Claudia and Meena. Lowering his voice, Tony hissed: "And, Dave, just who the hell, might we ask ... are they?"

I felt a sort of perverse thrill of glee, at what I was about to say to Tony and Jan. As if to say: Put this in your pipe, and smoke it!

As soon as Claudia and Meena had reached us, I said, "Claudia. Meena. Meet my next door neighbours and very good friends, Tony and Jan ... Tony and Jan, I have the pleasure of introducing to you, my wife Claudia. And Meena, my mother-in-law."

I wanted to laugh my head off, at the expressions on Tony and Jan's incredulous faces - absolutely priceless! My God! But it felt good; the feeling of wanting to laugh again. I'd quite forgotten what it was like. God knows, I'd had precious little to laugh about, in the last 3 months.

Tony and Jan could only stare after us, stunned speechless. They simply just stood there, mouths agape, as they watched me slide open the passengers' door of the people-carrier for Claudia and Meena. Watched, dumbfounded, as I politely and respectfully assisted them - my new 'wife' and my mother-in-law - into their seats, and then fastened their seat-belts for them.

I allowed myself a wan smile.

* * *

Upon our arrival at Manchester airport - Terminal 2 - I very carefully guided The Merc into a parking space on the first level of the multi-storey car park, that was, rather fortuitously, just being vacated by a maroon Volvo. I knew from experience just what it was like, sometimes, the frustration of trying to find a free space in that damned place.

I escorted Claudia and Meena to the Arrivals Hall. The time was now 4:55 p.m. According to the Flight Arrivals monitors, the 16:00 Arabian Airways flight from Wadi Ya Meen had arrived slightly early, at 15:55. And so it had landed exactly an hour ago ... our 5 visitors might be through at any moment.

As usual, at Arrivals, there were many meeters-and-greeters: taxi drivers; friends; family, all waiting to meet someone off one of the flights that had landed within the last hour or so. At the behest of Claudia, as soon as there was room for us at the roped-off Arrivals corridor, Claudia, Meena and I took up places there. We watched intently, as passengers - mostly returning holiday-makers - poured en masse along the corridor. The 5 black burka clad females of Wadi Ya Noh should appear at any second.

I spotted them first.

Fatima appeared first and, as eldest, she led the other 4 members of the small, black burka clad group. They followed behind Fatima uncertainly, and in a very closely attending huddle, like chicks afraid of losing the reassuring sight of their mother hen. After all, it was a very strange world that they had just arrived in.

Although all that was visible of their features were their dark, almond-shaped eyes, still, I recognised them all immediately. Fatima, in particular. I was absolutely certain, that I would be able to instantly identify Fatima's bulky but solid shape anywhere, anytime. Certain, that I would be able to effortlessly pick her anonymous, shrilly ululating figure out of the baying crowd in the punishment square at Wadi Ya Meen during a public caning ... after all, I had good reason to.

Claudia had already told me that Fatima and Kandi were coming to stay with us. I had very good reason to remember Kandi, too ... Kandi had trampled me half to death; mashing her bare feet into my stomach, as if she was treading grapes in the south of France. And it was Neesha, Shami, and Saida who made up the rest of the small party of shuffling black burka clad females.

Claudia and Meena then spotted their 5 visiting village sisters among the congested throng of the other air passengers - well, they did stand out a bit - and they ululated their greeting.

At hearing the shrill, primitive sound, the heads of meeters-and-greeters and of arriving air passengers alike turned and looked about, in trying to identify the source of that decidedly unsettling - profoundly disturbing - emanation. And Fatima, Kandi, Neesha, Shami, and Saida immediately and enthusiastically responded to their 2 village sisters' primal-sounding call, ululating back their acknowledgement.

"What, the ...?" I heard one taxi driver say. "What, in hell's name ...?" wondered another. "Muummmy!" wailed a frightened child.

And then it happened: one of the worst moments of my life.

For it was then that Claudia said, "David. You will now give Fatima the appropriate greeting - exactly as I instructed you earlier."

"Claudia ... please, please, Claudia ... don't make me do this ... Not - not this! Claudia ... please - I'm begging you! I'll do anything - anything! But, please, Claudia ... not---"

"Yes, David - you will do anything. Anything that I tell you to do. Now go, David! Give Fatima your welcome. Obey me ... Or else!"

Upon hearing Claudia's suddenly raised voice - or, more to the point: hearing what she had said, and the decidedly harsh, authoritative tone she had used in saying it - quite a number of people turned around to stare at us. The expressions upon their appraising faces were varied; interested, curious, intrigued - amused.

Well, I knew what "Or else!" meant ...

But, there were times, when I seriously wondered whether I should actually defy - yes, actually disobey - Claudia. Times, when I wondered if I had come to the end of my tether; finally reached the point, where enough was enough. Times, when I thought I could take no more; that I must finally draw a line in the sand - make a stand. Times, when I wondered if it would actually be preferable, to break the diabolical Terms and Conditions of our Civil Partnership, as stipulated by Claudia, and thereby contravene the manacled, shackled, ball-and-chain rules and regulations of our legally binding Contract - and say to hell with the consequences ... And this was one of those times.

But, I just simply could not bring myself to do it; could not make myself disobey my 'wife' Claudia. In short: I just couldn't man-up enough. I couldn't face being dragged back to Wadi Ya Noh. Back to Humility Hole. Back, to the mercilessly chastising feet, of the females of Wadi Ya Noh.

And so, I gave in again. And I complied with Claudia's command. "Yes, Claudia," I said obediently ... as I knew that I must.

I ducked under the waist-high cordon rope and, going against the congested flow of the air passenger traffic, I approached our 5 visitors - approached Fatima. I got down on my knees at Fatima's feet and, lowering my eyes, in showing my great respect and reverence, I stared down at the tops of her brown feet. "Fatima!" I cried loudly, in adulation. "Jewel of Wadi Ya Noh! Welcome! Welcome! Welcome!"

In response to my highly reverent welcome, Fatima glared down at me, in great, withering disdain. Fatima then turned her broad back on me, in preparing to summarily inflict, upon me, what was considered by her Culture to be the most gross, vile, obnoxious - humiliating - of all possible insults.

Fatima slipped her right foot from her extremely well-worn black mule, and she then raised her foot behind her, presenting her bare sole to my meekly, humbly attending face ... to allow me to demonstrate the sincerity of my respect and humility, at her feet.

Which I then proceeded to do ... as I knew that I must.

I started kissing Fatima's grubby, fleshy, wrinkled, rough-skinned brown sole, all over: From the pads, and then the undersides of her toes; progressing to the firm flesh of the ball of her foot; onto to her wrinkly low arch; and then proceeding up to the bottom of her grimy, hammer-head hard heel. Where I then firmly pressed my respectful, reverent lips - and kept them there ... Until Fatima, upon finally being satisfied that I had received her in the "appropriate" manner, then removed the sole of her right foot from my unmoving, passive face; returned her foot to her bin-worthy black mule, and then serenely proceeded on her way ... Which was just as well, for we were starting to cause something of a logjam behind us.

"What's up? Come on! Get a move on! We're going to be here all ruddy day!" I heard one exasperated male air passenger say from somewhere further back in the queue, who had finally grown impatient with the inexplicable cessation of any forward movement.

"What's the hold-up?" complained an annoyed woman peevishly. "For crying out loud! C'mon!" she shouted, voicing her growing displeasure.

Making a bee-line towards Claudia and Meena's welcoming waves, Kandi, Neesha, Shami, and Saida diverted their luggage trolleys around me - as if they were motorists avoiding a large piece of debris littering the road. Fatima now followed them, and I respectfully followed at Fatima's heels.

I tried to close my ears, to the terribly hurtful comments that I heard, from meeters-and-greeters and air passengers alike. I heard one taxi driver say to another: "Oi, Stan. Did you just see what I just saw, eh? ... or have I finally lost my marbles; gone Loony Tunes?"

"Ha ha ha!" replied his friend. "I'm glad you asked first, Joe! I thought I must be seeing things! Well! It just goes to show, dunnit - just when you think you've seen everything ..."

And I could hear literally dozens - seemingly hundreds - of other similar, sharply cutting comments. I heard hurtful and distressing observations. I heard a belittling badinage, of rollicking remarks; dry and droll denouncements. Juvenile jokes. Everyone was a comedian. And all the jokes were on me. No one, it seemed, was at a loss for an off-the-cuff cruel comical contribution; for an impromptu, belly-laugh inducing gag, at my expense. And there was a shaming, ridiculing background chorus of disbelieving, derisive male laughter; and of incredulous, exclamatory female tittering, coming from all around me. All directed at me.

It was incredibly, unspeakably humiliating.

At least, when I had 'tended' the dirty soles of the females of Wadi Ya Noh, whilst wretchedly incarcerated in Humility Hole, they (and other females of low station) were the only ones present to witness my diabolical degradations, at their chastising feet ... Unlike here. Where Claudia had, in commanding me to "Give Fatima, the appropriate greeting," forced me to debase myself so publicly. Effectively, to perform a character assassination upon myself, in the crowded Arrivals concourse at Manchester airport - Terminal 2.

And now an appalling wailing hullabaloo of ululating filled the Arrivals area with shrill, almost ear-perforating sound, as Claudia and Meena excitedly received our 5, equally excited visitors. Meeters-and-greeters and air passengers alike desperately covered their ears with their hands, in defensive response to being so intolerably assailed by that dreadful cacophony. And so did I.

And so it came as an immense relief, when Claudia - and, this time, she did have to speak loudly - ordered me to "Bring the Mercedes, David. Bring the Mercedes around to the pick-up area. We shall be waiting for you outside," she instructed me.

"Yes, Claudia," I replied obediently. And it didn't take me long to pay the parking fee, exit the multi-storey car park, and bring The Merc around to the pick-up area outside Arrivals, where the 7 females of Wadi Ya Noh were waiting for me. I opened the passengers' door for them and, while they got into the people-carrier and seat belted themselves up, I busied myself with loading their luggage - there wasn't much - into the back of the vehicle. And then we were soon leaving Manchester airport behind us; joining the M56 motorway, and heading east, towards Manchester.

There was a very excited babble, coming from our 5 visitors, and Claudia (seated in the front passenger's seat) translated to me that her village sisters were all absolutely amazed, and marvelling at seeing the incredible number and variety of cars and other types of vehicles on the road.

"Oh, this is nothing, Claudia," I said blithely. "This is quiet, being a Sunday. You should see it during the rush hour!" I told her. And, a moment later, I was fervently wishing that I'd kept my stupid big mouth firmly shut.

"The 'rush hour', David? What's that?" asked Claudia.

"It's when people are in their cars in the mornings and in the evenings, when they are driving to and from their places of work. It's when the roads are at their very busiest, and most congested - massive traffic jams, all over the place," I explained.

When Claudia had translated what I had told her to her raptly listening village sisters, and listened to their excited replies, Claudia turned back to me and said, "So you must drive us around then, David. In the rush hour. We would all very much like to witness such an amazing spectacle."

* * *

Within half an hour we had arrived back at my house, and I saw that my next door neighbours, Tony and Jan, were still outside, still lavishing their TLC upon their car. And now, I was chuckling inside - I could actually see the funny side - at seeing Tony and Jan's wide-eyed, slack-mouthed, incredulously gawping faces, as they watched the 7 black burka clad females of Wadi Ya Noh shuffle to my front door, and let themselves into my house.

"Dave - what the hell ...?" blurted Tony.

But, before I could enlighten Tony, at all, as regards to "what the hell ...?" was actually going on, I was prevented from doing so, at hearing Claudia's imperiously commanding, come-to-heel voice: "David!"

It was just one, single word, yes. But, just in saying that one, single word - my name - Claudia managed to convey, in her tone, so many things: power, control, dominance - authority. Unchallengeable authority. In short: the tone that Claudia conveyed whenever she spoke my name, could be summed up in one word. Rulership.

Claudia was beckoning me to come inside. And so, it was with a hapless, helpless, forlorn wave and melancholy smile, that I left Tony and Jan to mull over between themselves, just "what the hell ...?" could possibly be going on, as I meekly obeyed Claudia ... as I knew that I must.

Once inside the house, Claudia, sounding in exceedingly good humour, at playing hostess to her visiting village sisters, said, "Well, David. First things first: put the kettle on. I think we would all benefit from a nice, relaxing, refreshing cup of mint tea. And bring out a couple of plates of those rice cakes and maize biscuits, that Meena and I made this morning."

"Yes, Claudia," I replied, and I went to do her bidding.

When I returned to the living room, carrying a large tray heavily laden with said refreshments, the TV was on, and tuned in to the Al Jazeera channel. And I went around my own living room with the tray, as if I was a waiter in the lounge of some Eastern hotel, serving cups of mint tea and plates of rice cakes and maize biscuits, to 'Ladies who lunch'.

Claudia and Meena were seated upon my 2 comfortable armchairs. While our 5 visitors were seated together right in front of the TV, on my large sofa, which could just about accommodate them all without cramping them. And they were (just like Meena) ooh-ing and ah-ing their amazement and wonder, at the vivid colour images upon my 50-inch, high definition plasma flat-screen TV.

When I eventually served Claudia - "Guests first, then my Mother, David," she had instructed - she told me: "This just won't do, David ... Really, it won't."

What's wrong now? I wondered, thinking that Claudia must be in some way dissatisfied with the quality of my services. But, it wasn't that ...

"I want all of my village sisters to start learning English, David," Claudia now informed me. "So that they will all be better able to instruct you, of course - that goes without saying. But also so that they will then be able to enjoy, and to make the most of their time, each time they come to visit us in England. I shall begin teaching Meena, Kandi, Neesha, Shami, and Saida myself, here and now. Indeed, David, you will undoubtedly be of some assistance to them yourself; explaining the meaning of colloquial phrases, and things of that nature. But I want them all to have the benefits of professional tuition, too. Just as I had. And so, David, I want you to start sending money to the Educational College in Wadi Ya Meen, to pay for their English lessons. I shall write to the College today, enclosing your first cheque," Claudia told me.