Chapter 5: Thanksgiving and a Christmas Trip

The household rapidly reverted to normal pursuits as Mister Singh recovered his strength. He was able to make his way downstairs about a week later, though he was still very tired, and his robe (for he still maintained his dress in the Eastern fashion) hung loosely on him. Still, though he was in generally good spirits after such a close call with the Grim Reaper, he seemed preoccupied with some deep thoughts. Even James noticed and asked his old friend if he could be of some assistance, which Ahkbar repeatedly declined.

Eventually, at luncheon one day, Ahkbar nodded at the question and said, “I think I shall be traveling soon. I have never been to Mecca, you know.”

James sat bolt upright and looked at Ahkbar closely. “The Haj? Are you feeling all right, old friend?”

Ahkbar smiled and said, “I am feeling better every day. Still, I should like to make the trip once...” I nodded in understanding. He continued, saying, “For all I know, I shall outlive your grandchildren, but I suspect that the number of the days I have left is fewer than the number that I have spent. It is time.”

At this point, Siobhan broke in, looking at us without understanding. “The hodge? What is that? Are you going somewhere?”

We all looked at her with smiles. Siobhan is both a very worldly woman and a very provincial one. She is Boston Irish and Roman Catholic and knew little of Islam other than what she had picked up being around Mister Singh. I can still recall her confusion when she asked him why he had to pray five times a day, and always facing the East. James’ admission that he had had a surveyor draw up a map showing compass directions to Mecca simply was incomprehensible to her.

“No, the Haj,” I said, pronouncing it correctly. I answered her question, being relatively familiar with the Musulman religion. Being English, I had often encountered Musulmen and Arabs near London, and, of course, a considerable number of soldiers traveled there and back, bearing tales of the East. My father was a soldier, and through him I often met travelers and knew of the religion. “Mister Singh is a Musulman, Siobhan, as you know, and one of the tenets of their faith is that every Musulman should make a holy pilgrimage to the city of Mecca, at least once in his life.”

“Oh, sort of like visiting Rome or Jerusalem, you mean?” she replied, her eyes widening at the thought.

“Something of the sort,” admitted Ahkbar.

“But what about the wedding? Will you be back in time for the wedding? You’re in the wedding you know,” she asked.

At this, Ahkbar and James looked at each other and shrugged. James said, “Well, I should think you would have plenty of time to travel there and back by then, eh?”

“I would imagine so,” agreed Mister Singh. “What, travel West and take a ship from San Francisco, then the Orient, India, and Arabia?” James shrugged in acquiescence, and it was my turn to be shocked.

“Excuse me, but is that not the long way around?” The others looked at me, and I continued, “Surely it would be much faster to go through Europe, or even directly to Palestine and then on to Arabia. It must cut your travel in half, if not more!” I began juggling distances in my head and was sure that Mecca was only a third of the way around the world while traveling East. Going West would involve twice the travel, and correspondingly, twice the time.

As far as Siobhan was concerned, we were sending Mister Singh to the far side of the moon with Mister Verne; she had no idea at all where Mecca or Arabia were. To prove my point, I led the others into the library and retrieved the large atlas that James possessed. It occurred to me that during their travels, neither James nor Ahkbar had traveled through Europe. They had spent their entire time in the Orient, India, and the East Indies, and were therefore unfamiliar with the more direct route. Turning to a large map of the world, I traced out two possible paths, the first being a direct steamship from America to Palestine, and the second being a steamship to Europe, followed by a rail journey to Palestine. I was sure that once Mister Singh reached Palestine, he would be able to find his own way overland to Arabia.

The others looked at me curiously as they traced out the routes on their own, agreeing that my method was much shorter. It was then that Ahkbar said, “Alas, once I am past England, I will be lost. While I have many Eastern tongues, I know none of Europe’s.”

James shrugged and suggested that he wire some European solicitors to provide translation, and it was then that a plan formed full-blown in my mind. Squealing with glee, I said, “Rubbish! I have a much better method! You can get to London fine, correct?”

Ahkbar looked at me skeptically and said, “Well, I suppose...”

“Fine, from London, you travel to Mrs. Pembleton’s School. Her students are all taught several European languages. You might recall that I speak French and Latin, and can usually puzzle out Spanish, Italian, and Portuguese.” The others nodded in understanding. “Well, I am sure that other students will know these languages as well, as well as German and Russian. Why, a group of us could ride the rails across the Continent and manage quite nicely, thank you very much,” I said proudly.

I continued, “Now, from Mrs. Pembleton’s, you and your escorts will travel to London and thence to one of the Channel ports. A short ferry ride will have you in France, from which you will take a train to Paris. Now, once you are in Paris, you simply need to take the Orient Express. That will run you through Germany and Hungary to the Black Sea, Varna, I believe, and then continue to Constantinople by ferry. Once in Constantinople, you will be in a country where you will be able to converse again, and I am sure that you will be able to take a train to Palestine or even Arabia from there!” I traced the path along the map excitedly, and both James and Ahkbar began to look at me curiously, not expecting this sort of detail from me. However, the Orient Express was a brand-new luxury coach that was the talk of Europe when I had left, and I was sure of my facts.

“Well, that is all very well and good, but for whatever reason would they want to do such a thing?” asked Ahkbar slowly.

“Why for the adventure of it, of course! Think of the fun they would have, escorting a refined and handsome Indian gentleman around, dining at the finest restaurants and staying in the finest hotels. You would be staying at the finest hotels, wouldn’t you?” I asked.

“I am not a penniless beggar!” replied Ahkbar stuffily.

I patted his hand in mollification and continued. “Well, of course you’re not! That’s my point. I shall wire ahead to Mrs. Pembleton and arrange things as needs be. You shall make a certain contribution to the school fund, oh a few hundred pounds should do nicely, and provide suitable lodging and accommodations on your trip. Now, would you not prefer traveling with two or three lovely young ladies to ease your way, or would you prefer a long and tiring sea trip on your own?”

“Two or three...? Are you serious?” stammered Ahkbar, staring at me incredulously.

“Oh, certainly! I am sure that they will assist you in your every need.”

With this I gave a sly wink to James, who started. “By Jove, I must meet this Mrs. Pembleton! Make sure she gets invited to the wedding, even if I have to pay her steamship ticket myself!”

So, our plans were finalized. Ahkbar would take his leave after Thanksgiving, in Mid-December, traveling with Siobhan to Boston, from where he would take a liner to England. Siobhan assured us that she would act as escort to Mister Singh in Boston. When they left, James and I would travel to New York and spend the holidays there. Siobhan would spend Christmas with her family in Boston, and the three of us would return to Saratoga after the New Year. Ahkbar would return sometime in the Spring and was asked by James to be on the lookout for horses. His entire trip would not be taken up with his religious obligations, and it was well known that Arabian horses were particularly fleet of foot.

Ahkbar rested and recuperated through the balance of November, even through the local holiday known as Thanksgiving. This is a peculiar American holiday, celebrating a feast held by the Massachusetts Indians for the Pilgrims. James and Siobhan described it to me, and I was rather confused; it seemed to me that the Indians, considering their current plight, had been most foolhardy!

Regardless, it was James’ custom to make a great to-do over this holiday, having a great feast of Thanksgiving of his own, one to which a large number of the local villagers and townspeople were invited to. This was his way of saying ‘Thank you’ to the families of his various servants and workers, and their families were always invited, and a great multitude of them attended, even if but briefly. Vast quantities of food and drink were prepared, and James and several of the men took this opportunity to ‘thin out’ the local game population, which found its way to the table.

In addition, many of his past maidservants attended with their husbands and families, and I noticed several of these comely young ladies flirting with him when their husbands were out of sight! James had a certain level of turnover among his female staff, as they were not shackled to the house. James was a popular employer, inasmuch as the maids and cooks were well paid and given ample time off. Since he only hired the prettiest of the local girls, the estate was a magnet for young men interested in such. Due to Ahkbar’s non-fertility potion, the girls were amply able to practice the arts of pleasure, and those young men who managed to coax one of the girls to the altar found themselves happy men indeed! James often used his Thanksgiving feast as an opportunity to scout out and hire new girls to replace those which married away from the household.

I decided to make the evening a means to provide James my own thanks. Whilst I dressed modestly and showed decorum around the guests, Siobhan and I retired early, to prepare me for a more scandalous evening. We made our excuses and retired to my chambers, whereupon I stripped and took a most luxurious bath, with Siobhan caressing me most boldly as I relaxed in the water. While bathing, I took my razor and shaved quite closely. Although I shaved my legs, underarms, and cunny frequently, I wished to be sure that no trace of hair was below my head.

Next, I ended my bath and Siobhan prepared an enema for me. A soap solution was mixed and poured into an India rubber flask, which was attached to a thin India rubber tube, ending in an ivory nozzle. Naked, I bent over, and Siobhan inserted the nozzle into my arse. The flask was upended and squeezed, forcing the wash water into my nether regions. I found this a strange feeling, not uncomfortable, but definitely odd. Shortly thereafter, the nozzle was removed, and I was allowed to use the toilet and allow the fouled water to pass from me. This entire process was repeated, and I found myself completely clean, both inside and out.