The Life of Koru, Chapter 60
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Fuqqa emerged from the blacksmith's workshop as a changed koru, his cock locked in a tiny iron cage. It was a requirement for the slaves who embraced Islam to subject their wiener to this torture, as a form of sacrifice and submission to the Caliphate. In earlier history, Islamic states practiced castration on slaves, but locking the cock with a cage was more effective as it didn't curb a slave's energy and testosterone levels, which were crucial for him being a good worker.
Seeing Fuqqa locked in this way felt like karma to Mulo:
"This is what ye get for betrayin' the Black Empire, Fucka! My cock is free, while yers is stuffed in a small cage!"
"Who cares?" Fuqqa said. "I'se fucked enough in my life, more than ye will ever fuck with yer useless prick!"
Fuqqa understood nothing from Islam, he just jumped into the boat because it looked cozier. Soon he realized that he had to pray five times a day in Arabic, a language which he found very difficult to learn. A Muslim instructor would stay close to him while he prayed and would hit him with a stick if he mispronounced a word. It was fucking awful, but at least Fuqqa didn't have to swing a large hammer in the quarry, like the infidel slaves.
For him, it was easy to leave the past behind. Life had turned him into a cynical brute with no love for anyone, be it Black Lords or Arab Lords. He did everything for himself, but he didn't even love himself. He was a creature devoid of love.
"I'se pray for yer dark-as-night soul, Fucka!" Mulo told him.
"Shut up, slave! Get back to work!"
That insolent pup needed to be put in his place! Fuqqa followed him in the quarry, supervising Mulo's every move and if Mulo dared to pause even for a second to wipe his brow, Fuqqa would whip Mulo.
He liked to see Mulo straining with big blocks of stone on his back, his legs sagging under the immense weight, sweat pouring down his face as he struggled to maintain his balance.
At times, Mulo would join teams of slaves harnessed together to pull gigantic stone blocks across the mountains. These incredible monoliths which resembled those from Stonehenge weighed several hundred tons each and were used for the construction of towers, palaces, mosques, ziggurats and pyramids, as symbols of the grandeur of the Caliphate. Pulling a gigantic stone block uphill required every ounce of strength the slaves could muster, a synchronized effort that really tested their capability as beasts-of-burden. Pulling the same block downhill required a lot of balancing, coordination and braking from the team of slaves, otherwise the block would come crashing down upon them.
The ropes creaked and groaned as muscles bulged and sweat dripped from the bodies of the slaves as they pulled.
"Dumb beasts, ye never work hard enough!" Fuqqa said, lashing the backs under his command.
"I see you are making a lot of progress, slave!" Chief Khalid told Fuqqa.
"Well'se... Thank ye, sayyidi!" Fuqqa said, a little flattered.
"In Islam, we say that all the infidels go to Jahannam after they die. It is a fiery pit, a place of torment where they suffer greatly for their foolery. This doesn't mean that they are not supposed to suffer even before they go there. No, they should be given a foretaste of what awaits them. No second of their lives should they be free from the pain and suffering they have earned through their disbelief. They should suffer so much, to the point where Jahannam would look like an unsurprising continuation of their torment. You are doing a good job in enforcing this, Fuqqa! You are a true bringer of Jahannam!"
"Um... yeah, of course, sayyidi!" Fuqqa said, trying to understand what Chief Khalid told him.
Later that evening, when it was the time for Fuqqa to pray, the Muslim instructor was not there, so Fuqqa thought: "Yippee! I'se'll skip this one!" The voice of the muezzin calling for the sunset prayer was heard from a minaret, its hauntingly melodic sounds reverberating through the rocky walls of the quarry.
Fuqqa laid down to sleep, but at a certain point during the night, he heard some strange noises.
He went to the jailhouse only to find the gate had been forced open and two of the guards were lying unconscious on the ground.
"Chief Khalid! Chief Khalid! Slaves are out!" he yelled in broken Arabic.
"Hey, bud! Hey, bud! What ye in for?" a voice was heard from the dark cell.
"I'se here for scapin'," Peon said.
There was no point in hiding the truth.
"Damn, boy!" the voice said. "Ye're so dead! Ye're not gettin' outta this!"
Peon knew the voice was right. He still remembered what Dumbo had to suffer after he was caught escaping. But who was he talking to?
"I'se Peon! What's yer name?" he said.
"That's none of yer business, ye fuckin' scaper!" the voice responded. "Get it? None of yer business!"
Later on, a Black policeman came towards their cell, with a flashlight in hand, a baton and a gun.
"Inspection time, apes!" he shouted. "On your feet! Press your cocks through the bars and don't try anything silly!"
Peon and the other slave obeyed, holding their arms behind their heads and their hips thrust forward.
The policeman took their cocks in his hand and started stroking them lightly, making the slaves moan, then said:
"Which one of you is the fucking fugitive?"
"Me, suh!" Peon said.
"Come with me for interrogation!"
Peon was taken to a small room where there was only a desk and an intense lamp. He had to kneel in front of the desk, while the policeman prepared his tools for the interrogation. The light of the lamp was focused on Peon's face so that he couldn't avoid it, and it made his eyes squint. The harsh glare intensified his fear, and sweat began to bead on his forehead as he anxiously awaited the questioning to begin.
"Boy, your Massa told me you escaped together with another slave and you two joined a circus owned by a Black gentleman called Dwarfissimo. Is that true, boy?"
"Yessuh!" Peon answered.
"The other slave is a mulatto so he can easily blend with the Free People. Where did he intend to go after the show, boy?"
"Umm... I'se don't know, suh!"
After a kick and a few baton hits, Peon came with a more elaborate answer:
"Suh, I'se really have no idea, suh! His daughter is a ghostie and she can do magic'ry and she summon big bad shadows from the netherworld and she can make a wumma from dough and they force me to come with them cause I'se know how to do easy tricks and shit gold and such but they really want to take revenge upon Lil Massa because he pranked her with a jack-in-the-box that farted hard and it exploded killin' her so that she is now a ghosite!"
"Wow! You really are a babbling idiot aren't you? There's no logic in what you just said! You're just saying this because you are trying to hide something! Preston, why don't you take this disobedient moron to the whipping frame and show him the proper way to talk!"
"But, suhs, I'se said the truth and only the truth!"
"SHUT UP! SHUT YOUR MOUTH, SLAVE! YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO DISOBEY THE POLICE!"