Irkutsk Ch 23

I acknowledge a debt to Lewis Carroll and his book

Through the looking glass, and what Alice found there

, and perhaps also to Douglas Adams'

The restaurant at the end of the universe

, from the

Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

"trilogy", in my reference to doing impossible things before breakfast.

Also, I apologise for giving the impression that episode 22 was the final episode. I reread it and can appreciate how it looked that way, but no, there is a little more to come.

And again, I'm not sure this is the correct category. You may decide that Mind Control is not the best group for this chapter. You can't deny, however, that my Ladies exercised a type of mind control over me, even if I was never forced against my will. And there was not enough sex in this chapter for any of the usual categories.

*****

Consciousness drifted back to me lying on my paillasse as an approaching dawn revealed the grey silhouette of a small, square, barred window. I remembered the disaster that had been yesterday. Despite this, I awoke with the usual throbbing need. As had been the norm in my life before I had met the Ladies' Brigade, there was no-one there to help me deal with it.

No-one physically present, that is. Dreams of Chris filled my head. I was torn between worry about the happiness for my ladies and myself that was rapidly becoming a sad memory, and the desire that was taking over my body unbidden. I closed my eyes and saw Chris gazing at me. Behind her was a phalanx of ladies, all looking lovingly at me. My erection was now painful, not that that would have been unpleasant if I had had one of my Ladies there in person to help me with it. And then every one of the Ladies in my mind blew me a kiss and faded. Hana was last, smiling. I felt that she was trying to communicate something. By the time they had all gone I was relaxed again, with not the faintest sexual feeling in my body.

I sat there, wondering. And then I realised. Hana hadn't been trying to communicate - she had been communicating. She had told me that my Ladies weren't giving up - neither sadness nor loss had been a feature of their demeanour. Could they be telling me that they knew my situation? That they were able to do something about it? That seemed unlikely, but I decided I should do my bit. If there was any future for me, I needed to take some sort of action myself. If I were not going to be rescued, then I might as well take any chance I could to make it on my own. And if I died, then at least my kidnappers would not be able to use me as a bargaining chip. I certainly didn't want my ladies sacrificing themselves on my behalf. I hoped that since I had married Chris and made the arrangements for all my other ladies to live in Australia, they may still be allowed into Australia even without me, even if I were ... dead.

Memories of some World War II books and films came to me. In particular I remembered the stories of Prisoners of War digging tunnels to escape. They did so under infinitely more difficult circumstances than mine: surely I could do something here. The slate floor tiles were about eighteen inches square - perhaps I could lift one out and start a tunnel?

It seemed likely that someone would come to check on me at intervals, so I would need to be able to return my cell to at least an appearance of normality at perhaps thirty seconds' notice. I would need to bear this in mind throughout my work.

I spent about fifteen minutes twisting off the pull tag from the zipper on my pants, moved the paillasse aside and started scratching at the grout between the slate tiles beneath. I worked steadily, thinking that if I heard anyone returning I would have plenty of time to set the room straight and cover the evidence of my efforts.

In no time it seemed I was holding the very tip of the pull tag to reach the limit of what I could achieve with it. I checked all round the tile to check I had got out every bit of dirt that I could with this little tool. I then took the insole out of a shoe and started brushing the fill out from between the slates with that. Fortunately at about the same point where I had reached the limit of the pull tag, the grout had become a little softer. Every few scrapes I blew down the groove raising a small cloud of loose dirt. Most of it landed outside the groove and could then be brushed out of the way.

At one stage my legs started to cramp and I stood for a while to stretch. It was now fully light and when I looked out the window I could see the sun high, or at least high for these latitudes, in the sky. It must be about eleven o'clock. Time had passed quickly with my concentration on the job at hand. I decided I needed to take regular exercise, both to maintain my fitness and to ward off the recurrence of cramps. Maybe it would also help me keep my spirits up.

I did some sit-ups and press-ups, then some running on the spot. I went to the window and did some isometric exercise trying to bend or break the bars. I didn't expect to move them, and my expectations were fulfilled completely. However, I felt better. After about ten minutes I had a little to eat and a drink, then got back to my work.

At a depth of about an inch and a half I could feel the insole poking just slightly under the slate. I had reached the bottom level of the slate. However, I was a long way indeed from being able to lift the tile out. I could not get my fingers into the gap to lift it. Instead I kept brushing the dirt away from one corner. Conveniently the sun was now shining through the window directly along one of the grooves. I could see that some of the dirt was flowing out from beneath the slate and into the groove. The deeper I dug the groove, the more drained out from beneath the tile into it.

Eventually I thought perhaps I had enough dug away, and stamped hard on the corner of the slate. I had the satisfaction of watching the opposite corner lift a fraction of an inch. I dug just a little more, then wedged the (now threadbare) insole around that opposite corner and stamped again, several times.

After about twenty tries, each time digging a little more in the opposite corner, I could see the insole work its way down just a little further into the gap. I pulled the heel and toe ends apart as hard as I could, and was able to lift the corner free just a little. However, I needed both hands to pull the insole tight and I could not grab the corner while it was loose.

I thought for a while, and took off my right shoe and sock. I pulled the corner up again and jammed my little toe into the gap before it dropped again. It hurt like hell, but it kept the corner up until I was able to get two fingertips under the corner, and lift the slate up onto its edge.

I hopped around for a moment and tried to examine the toe, but there was no blood and it was too painful to touch. I decided to put the sock and shoe back on - very carefully - and got back to my task.

I raised the slate over my head and smashed it down onto the other slates as hard as I could. I achieved nothing except a loud bang and a sore shin as it bounced off the wall back onto me. I tried again at a slightly different angle. Again and again I slammed it as hard as I could onto the floor, but achieved nothing apart from risking damage from the wildly bouncing slate.

And then after one mighty effort leaving the slate bounding around for a while, and after the sound faded, I heard a car engine. It had nearly caught me out - the noise and my focus on my work had caught me out.

I quickly put the slate over the hole, swept the bulk of the loose dirt against it and replaced the mattress. I sat on the mattress trying to look bored, then suddenly decided that if I were really bored I would be standing at the window watching the car. By the time I reached the door, the car had stopped outside and the driver was getting out. I was unable to decide whether he had noticed my late arrival, and for some strange reason that issue was very worrying for me.

My jailer slammed the door and came to the window. He pushed a light canvas bag through the bars. I took it, saying "Thank you". I have no idea why I was thanking a captor: a lifetime habit of good manners was just revealing itself.

As I stood there with the bag in my hand, I noticed him looking oddly at me, staring first at my trousers, then to my face, then back down. I looked down and saw that my trousers were covered with dirt, especially the knees. I wondered if he thought I had been praying. I looked back at him and simply shrugged: what could I say?

He walked off shaking his head, got straight back in the car and drove off. I watched him drive into the distance. I waited for several minutes, staring at the empty horizon, and then got back to the task at hand.

I sat down for a few minutes to eat and drink, then went through my exercise routine again. Finally I went to the window to check that no-one was in sight. There was no-one there, but I did note that the sun was now well past its zenith. I had been digging most of the day. And I was determined to keep up the work rate.

Again I lifted the slate over my head, and slammed it down once more. It must have been my fiftieth try overall, but my first attempt after the break was successful. Pieces of slate, large and small, rained down around my ears.

I quickly collected up the larger pieces. I then swept the smaller pieces into a corner. I went back to the larger pieces and chose a long, narrow, triangular piece. I would use it as my spade.

I knew this was going to take a long time, and so slow and steady was the way. I decided I would place the pile of loose soil three feet from the hole I was digging. Far enough not to fall back into the hole, but close enough so that my paillasse could be put down to cover both. I might check every now and then to see if there was enough wind to scatter any soil that I might throw out between the bars on my door. But now there was not even a breeze.

For almost a foot the going was easy, but then the ground started to get harder. Not only that, it was noticeably colder. I worried about permafrost, although my (admittedly inadequate) knowledge of local geography suggested that there was no permafrost in the areas of Russia I had traveled in recent months. I had no option, however, but to press onwards...or, rather, downwards.

At 18 inches the ground started to become damp, and the deeper I dug, the wetter it got. I had to rethink my strategy. I thought if I dug right alongside the wall and up the other side, I might be able to squeeze through a shallow hole under the wall.

It was now easy to lift the one slate between my hole and the wall, and I started digging right alongside the wall. I found what seemed like the bottom of the foundation only six inches underground, and focused on that. It seemed only minutes before I had poked my hand up into what felt like fresh air. Perhaps I had done only a fraction of what was needed, but the fact that my hand had reached "freedom" gave me fresh heart.

By the time the sun had set I had what looked like a possible escape route. I wasn't going to be able to dig much deeper because the water was on the brink of caving in the edges of my excavation, but I thought I might squeeze through.

For the moment, however, working in the dark seemed to invite a range of risks. I couldn't think of a specific risk, so maybe it was just a fear of the unknown. Whatever the justification or reasons, I decided not to continue at night.

In the fading light I sat down to eat another meal. I rested for a while with the idea of another period of exercise. But my plans went wrong - I fell asleep. No doubt the continual and unfamiliar effort of the digging had tired me out. The next thing I knew I was awake in the pitch dark, shivering with both cold and fear. Frightened of nothing real, of course, and well I knew that, but I was frightened just the same. I thought for a while about Stone Age men and women lying in their caves on a moonless night. They had it better because they weren't alone, and they were accustomed to it, but on the other hand they never knew when some wild animal was going to come into the cave. I wondered if I had had a bad dream which I had forgotten upon awakening, leaving just the nameless fear. It didn't make any difference - I was frightened no matter how I tried to rationalise it.

And then my Ladies came to me again. Again this second time the visitation was comforting, not sexual. One by one they filed past me, each one kissing me gently on the lips and holding my hand for a moment. My courage returned and I tried to warn them not to accede to any demands from my captors. And every time I gave this message, my reply was an enigmatic smile followed by the squeeze of the hand.

Last of them was Chris. She stopped a little longer to tell me to be strong. As she left after the others into the ether, I felt stronger and warmer. I felt a little embarrassed about my lapse, and that my Ladies had had to comfort me, but nonetheless, just as my fears had been irrational, so was the remedy. I wriggled a little deeper into my covers, and the next thing I knew the barred window was showing dark grey in the midst of the black. This time I felt rested and ready for work.

I performed the morning routine that was already becoming familiar. I did another round of exercises, and had food and water. I was surprised to find that the unchanging nature of my food was not a problem - I was thinking of it as fuel, not pleasure. And it was effective fuel. My energy levels seemed good, and so I got back to work.

I might need to do a little more excavation, but decided to see how far I could get into this tunnel. Clothes were going to be a problem - they would catch on every irregularity and hold me up.

I undressed and laid my clothes between the bars on the door so I could recover them from outside if necessary. I stood over the hole, naked and shivering, wondering how best to tackle the work of a mole, when I heard a car in the distance. It was earlier today.

I rushed desperately and grabbed my clothes and put them on. I laid the huge bag of straw back down again over my excavations. A quick glance around the room and then I sat on the end of the mattress, grabbed more beef jerky and started chewing.

The same man appeared at the door and I stood up to meet him. He looked down and so did I. My trousers were inside out and the fly was gaping open. He pushed another bag through the window and said, "That's all you get today". He turned and left, and I saw him get back in the car and drive off. What must he be thinking? Praying yesterday and undressed today, while I was chewing? It didn't matter - back to work.

Suddenly I was grabbed in a very intimate way. But nobody was there. A mouth engulfed me and sucked, hard. I looked down and saw my straining, throbbing erection, untouched by human (or any other) hand or mouth. Five seconds ago any form of eroticism had been as far away from my mind as ever, but now my only thought was to empty my sudden need deep into this mouth.

I closed my eyes and saw Angéle, naked before me, staring up straight into my eyes as she continued her work. She got what she wanted in next-to-no time, swallowed, blew me a kiss, smiled wistfully and...just vanished. I opened my eyes to see that I was still dressed - if trousers inside out and fly open can be called dressed. I felt encouraged by the visitation, if somewhat drained. But I was not going to be turned from my task.

I undressed again, laying out my clothes in the window again, and went back to stand at the hole looking down. I checked everything was in place - I didn't want to have to climb through this hole unnecessarily - and placed my head in the hole.

I had decided to tackle this face up so my body could bend the right way. I would have my arms by my sides, instead of in front of me. The first difficulty was getting my face under the bottom of the wall. My nose was a problem, and I addressed this simply by turning slightly to the side. Already it would have been difficult for me to go back, and my determination benefited from this realisation.

I wriggled and wormed my shoulders back and forth, gaining purchase with the pressure of my feet on the next slate. I did some damage to one nipple on the stonework, but by this time I could see the sky. However, I couldn't twist my body in the required direction to make it all the way through. I was going to have to dig the hole wider and longer on the outside, and that was going to be awkward reaching from the inside.

I repeated each step part of this journey as I wormed my way backward into my cell. The pain was increased by the knowledge that I was returning to captivity.

After dressing yet again, I looked back at my collection of broken slate, and chose the longest. I lay on my side with my head and arms down the hold, and started work. I was very soon at full stretch. I dug in this position for a while, then got up and out and scooped out the loosened soil to add to the growing pile beside me.

It wasn't long before I had dug out as far as I could reach, and it was time to try again. I tried the face up method again, and this time I got half my body through. My arms were free outside and I could breathe what felt like sweeter air outside. But just as I felt as if I was home, free, home, my legs stuck. They wouldn't bent backwards and the harder I tried the more my knees hurt as they were trying to bend the wrong way. I tried twisting around to face the other way to complete my passage, but it just didn't work. I spent a few minutes panicking, so near and yet so far. I couldn't get out and I was not willing even to try to work my way back into that prison cell.

Again my presence of mind let me down, but not my Ladies. Suddenly Maria was before me. I remembered when I met her I had thought her far too young, and how embarrassed I had been when I had learned that she was 26 after I had rudely rejected her, thinking she was a child. Today she was wearing those same clothes - a school uniform - that had made her look so young on that occasion where I had made a fool of myself. She lifted her skirt to reveal she was wearing no knickers, and one sly finger slipped between her legs, and then into her mouth. Throughout all this she was staring boldly into my eyes. Was this some perverted desire surfacing, or was Maria sending me a message?

I lay there frightened and in pain, and thought about Maria. I remembered that first time she had tried to seduce me, not counting for the moment that very first night in the Ladies' lair when she had simply climbed aboard in the pitch dark without so much as a "by your leave". On that first occasion she had simply jumped me. The second time she had dressed like a schoolgirl, plaits and all, thinking it would appeal to me.

I remembered how I had felt when I had seen her like that, thinking I had been set up with a very underage young girl. I had felt that my world had ended, and yet I had just misunderstood the situation. I now knew that Maria was 26, not 12. I had overreacted to her very young appearance. Perhaps she was reminding me not to overreact now? Perhaps she was also telling me she wanted me to do whatever possible to get back to her.

I took a few deep breaths and settled my mind down. Maria disappeared and suddenly I was back in this bland landscape. I slowly wriggled my way back whence I had come, into the cell. With tiny movements of my body, pushing with my fingertips and toes, I managed to

Get back, earning a few extra scratches and bruises on the way.

Then I quickly got back to digging, and I removed a third tile, the one that my heels had been forced against a few minutes ago. I also excavated a little of the dirt from beneath where that tile had been, and quickly tried again.