Birth

~*~

Helen’s lifeless body was laying naked on the sand of a small beach. Poseidon, who had abandoned her there after saving her from a suicide attempt, had disappeared ages ago. And as wave after wave came crashing over the soft, marked shapes of her naked body, the young woman gradually regained consciousness. But dazzled by the intensity of the light, it took Helen a long time to make out what was around her, but she did manage to see the silhouette before her.

“A young woman.”

Helen, who had forgotten all about herself and felt as if she’d just woken from a very long sleep, recognized the shapes before her. A man, a man was standing in front of her. The young woman whose sight was still not clear didn’t hesitate and asked who he was and where she was.

At these stammered words, the man gasped and took a few steps back. Helen then tried to sit up, but was seized by a sort of unease, a retching, before suddenly spitting out a little amount of salty water. Picking herself up slowly but surely, she saw with some astonishment that two young adults in rags were staring at her curiously – a young woman of around 18 and a young man holding a stick, aged around 19.

“Where are we?” she asked again.

Unfortunately, Helen’s question was met with silence and curious eyes. She tried to stand up, but once again her body wouldn’t let her. The decision was then made to sit down on the damp sand. Yes, it was better to do that than to wobble all the time. The young woman turned her attention back to the two people watching her and asked them again where she was and who they were.

“We don’t have to tell you our names. You’re probably a fugitive from Troy. So, don’t move,” the young man firmly replied.

“Troy? What is Troy? I…”

Without giving her time to continue her sentence, the young man brought his stick down very close to her, startling her in the process.

“Silence!” he exclaimed, before turning to his sister. “Go and tell Father to come while I keep an eye on her.”

The young woman took to her heels and rushed back to their home. Meanwhile, Helen, who was still in a daze, tried to gather her thoughts, thoughts that seemed so deeply and surprisingly empty.

For a long moment, Helen stood motionless in front of the young man, who was holding his stick in his hands like a weapon and never took his eyes off her. Why was he doing all this? To keep an eye on her, no doubt. However, the more he was watching her, the harder it became to focus on anything other than her firm, heavy breasts, her thighs and the triangle they contained. This intrigued him enormously, all the more so as the woman sitting from him on the sand made no attempt to conceal it.

Having regained some of her senses, but certainly not the slightest shred of memory, Helen finally managed to stand up straight. The young man, who did not miss the total nudity of this perfect body with its marked and generous curves, asked her what she was doing.

“I’m leaving,” she replied.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

At this point, Helen made a vague gesture towards the land in the distance.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Probably over there. I… I don’t remember anything… anything at all…”

“You’re not going anywhere. You stay here and wait for Father. Everything the sea throws up is ours.”

Helen couldn’t help but laugh at his far-fetched remarks.

“I’m not a chest or a cloth. I’m… I’m… a woman and I do what I want.”

She started to move away from him when a sudden, searing pain irradiated her thigh. The young man had just hit her. Helen wavered and fell to her knees.

“You’re not going anywhere…” he retorted as he stepped around her, his stick still brandished at her.

The young woman crouched down, massaging the sore spot on her thigh where a bruise was forming.

“Next time you try to get away, I’ll hit you in the head.”

Faced with the young man’s threat, Helen decided to remain motionless, trying at the same time to forget the pain pulsing in her thigh. Suddenly, she had the impression of hearing voices – voices that mingled with the cries of seabirds chirping in the azure sky – then the crunch of sand being trodden. She turned her gaze away from the source of the voices only to discover the young man’s sister accompanied by a man much older than herself, a man who must surely have been the father they had mentioned.

“She wanted to leave, but I made her stay,” the young man proudly said as the duo joined them.

“Well done, son.”

The old man approached Helen and grabbed her by the hair.

“Where are you from, woman? And what’s your name?”

Helen became confused. The man smelled strongly of salt, fish, and perspiration. But she didn’t have time to analyze further as a slap suddenly landed on her face.

“I expect answers, woman.”

“I…I don’t know,” she replied, sobbing. “I don’t know where I come from or what my name is! I can’t remember a thing!”

Still holding her in his grip, the old man straightened up, forcing her to follow suit. And as he watched her, he noticed the thin chain and the vulgar metal medal around her neck.

He then let go of Helen’s hair to grab the chain and pull on it as if to rip it out. Unfortunately, all he managed to do was bruise the skin on her neck, causing her to cry out in pain. He tried again, but the result was still the same. The old man then turned his attention to the medal, which bore just one letter: “êta”.

“Êta. That’s not a name,” he said. “You must have been a slave. Slaves don’t need names. A slave washed up on our beach. Everything the sea throws up is ours. So, you’ll be Êta and serve us from now on.”

At this point, Helen couldn’t help but struggle. She didn’t know who she was or where she’d come from, but she was sure she wasn’t a slave. It couldn’t be true.

“No! I’m not a slave. I don’t belong to you!…”

“You don’t understand, woman. You’ve got nothing to say,” he said after slapping her for the umpteenth time. The sea rejected you and we found you. You belong to us now. You’ll be our slave. That must be what you were. A vulgar metal chain so strong and impossible to remove must be a slave’s mark. Forget your former masters, they no longer matter. You’re going to follow us to our home where you’ll be our servant. And if you serve us well, you’ll be fed.”

The situation had taken a very dramatic turn for Helen. She, who knew neither her name nor where she came from, now had to obey the finger and eye of this old man, this old man who couldn’t stop ogling her body from every possible angle, this old man who was now running his calloused hand over her buttocks.

“Hum! I’ve been a widower for far too long. And there are too few women in this county. You will serve us and give me pleasure. Yes, you’ll give me pleasure, lots of pleasure.”