Treasure of the sea |Lesbian story|

From the diary of Delise Shelley

Jahzara was skilled in the healing arts. She told me that all the women in her family had always passed down that kind of knowledge. Laurence's slaves and even slaves in the neighbourhood always came to her when they were injured or feeling unwell. I watched, fascinated, as her hands knew how to suture, where to press and what to do, in any situation. There was something reassuring about her. Her way of looking at life, her desire to make people feel good, her determination to restore wellbeing and health, without judgement, always impartial. Jazhara, noticing my curiosity, decided to teach me. She made me memorize the names and effects of medicinal plants, where to find them, how to dose them and the best method to prepare infusions and medicines. She told me about the human body, about bones, organs and wounds. She told me about poisons and diseases. As soon as a patient arrived, she let me decide what to do, giving me advice and correcting me when I went astray. It all took place in the kitchen, the one place Laurence never went near. He had no idea of the comings and goings in that part of the house. The cook, a slave who was now past middle age, never complained about the hustle and bustle. She adored Jazhara; she cured her rheumatism and procured very hard-to-find medicinal plants for her.

At first the slaves found it hard to get used to my presence. Many of them had even stopped coming to Jazhara for treatment, so frightened were they by the presence of a white woman in that environment. But then, when they discovered that I had no bad intentions and that I was only there to learn, they began to get used to me.

"Why are you wasting your time with us, mistress? Have you nothing better to do?" the gardener asked me one day, as I was bandaging a wound he had gotten on his hand.

"What would you like me to do?"

"You can do anything you want."

I smiled at him, kindly. "I wish that were true."

At nightfall, Laurence would wait for Jazhara to leave my room, then knock lightly on my door. He would get very angry if I refused, and to avoid his wrath I would give myself to him without protest. When he would finish, he would talk to me about the children we would have, claiming that I would be happier once I became a mother; my days would become more peaceful, with children to take care of. But I just couldn't imagine myself relegated to that life of mother and wife. There was something oppressive about that vision, that future already laid out.

"I don't think I want children, Laurence," I admitted one night. "I like kids a lot, but I don't think I want to be a mother."

"What are you talking about? All women want to be mothers."

"Well, I don't and neither does our neighbour, Josette Smith. She confessed that to me a few months ago."

"The Smiths have four kids!"

"But she didn't want them. She never felt the desire to be a mother, and neither did I."

"You're getting revenge, aren't you? For what I did. You're getting revenge, after all this time."

"What? No."

"Then why are you saying this? What's wrong with you? Why don't you want kids with me?"

"I told you, I don't feel the need to..."

"Nonsense. You just want to piss me off."

"Why do you refuse to listen?"

On this subject Laurence remained adamant. He wouldn't listen to reason and although I always tried to explain myself, he didn't believe me. He wondered why I didn't get pregnant. He had a dozen doctors examine me, but they couldn't find anything wrong with me.

Two months later, he summoned the housekeeper and made arrangements to prepare everything necessary for a long journey. He said we were going to London, where a man named Sir Henry Evans was waiting for him. "He is a politician, an important man. He intends to be my business partner. Isn't that wonderful, Del?"

"Why can't I stay here?"

"There's nothing here for you, dear. Don't you want to see London? You'll be able to go to the opera every night, you'll be able to go to drawing-rooms and cafes, you'll be able to go to the finest shops and buy anything you want. You'll love being rich in London. Besides, there's a doctor in Soho who could help you."

"I want Jahzara to come with us."

"And who is Jahzara?"

"Anne."

"Oh! We could get all the personal maids you want in London; white maids."

"No, I want Jahzara."

Laurence huffed. "If you insist."

Setting foot on a ship again was like being pierced in the heart over and over again, every day, every hour. I watched the busy sailors, performing tasks I knew so well. Every time they saw me, they bowed their heads and greeted me with respect; they had no idea that I was once exactly like them, a simple sailor who lowered sails, tied knots, and obeyed every order.

Jahzara had never travelled by sea. She wanted to know everything. She'd ask me to explain maritime terms, she'd ask me about the function of everything she saw, and I'd satisfy her. I showed her the lines, the manoeuvres, I told her where the wind came from and how to exploit it.

"Your eyes light up every time you talk about it," she revealed to me one day. "You really miss it, don't you? Working on a ship."

I remained silent. I didn't have the strength to answer.

"It's so beautiful," she continued. "I finally know more of your world. I just can't imagine you, though, dressed as a man." She laughed.

"No?"

"No! You look so beautiful and feminine in dresses and lace."

"With this pompous stuff on I always think I look ridiculous instead."

"You're wrong. You're pretty." She looked around, making sure no one was around, and placed a light kiss on my cheek.