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 WifeThese are relevant references from the Books where a Wife is mentioned. I make no pronouncements on these matters, but report them as I find them. Arrive at your own conclusions. I wish you well, Fogaban We know using the word wife is not the proper term, correct? Or are there actually wives on Gor? Once I brought the carcass of a tabuk, one of Gor's single-horned, yellow antelopes, which I had felled in a Ka-la-na thicket, to the hut of a peasant and his wife. Asking no questions, as was suitable given the absence of insignia on my garments, they feasted me on my own kill, and gave me fiber, and flints and a skin of wine. "There is no freer nor higher nor more beautiful woman," I said, "than the Gorean Free Companion. Compare her with your average wife of Earth." I ran back to the elevators. One stopped at my floor, the twenty-fourth. I stood with my back pressed against the wall. A man and his wife stepped out. Marlenus sat down, cross-legged, by Verna. He looked on her, intently. He studied her. He gave her great attention. She turned her head to one side, her wrists secured in many turns of binding fiber, her fists clenched. I knew that on Earth many men did not even know their wives. They did not truly look upon them. Never, truly, had they seen them. But a Gorean master will know every inch, and care for every inch, of one of his slave girls. Southern girls, incidentally, in my opinion, though scarcely as worked as their northern sisters in bondage, a function of the economic distinction between the farm and the city, are often worked, and worked hard, particularly if they have not pleased their masters. Yet, I think their labors less than those often performed by the wife of Earth. That a male of Earth may not even know what clothing his wife owns, or what she buys, would be unthinkable to most Goreans, even those who stand in free companionship. To the master it would simply be preposterous. What his girl wears, if she is to wear anything, is of great interest to him. After all, she is not a wife; she is much more important she is a prized possession. The clothing she wears, any cosmetics or jewelry, or perfume, must be absolutely perfect. He is "in," so to speak, on everything. Should she tie her hair with as little as a new ribbon, it must pass his strict inspection. If it is not "right" for her, she will not be permitted to wear it. That a wife might wear a new dress and her husband not even notice it would be incredible, if not incomprehensible, to any Gorean, whether a proprietor or a companion. I kissed the kneeling, chained prisoner swiftly, with the insulting kiss often given by the wives of Earth to their husbands. "Forgive me, Master," I said, "I must now serve another." Then I hurried away. Few wives, I knew, would dare to let themselves appear to their husbands as a hot, panting bitch. Slave girls, on the other hand, are given no choice. "It is fortunate," she said, "that you are only a miserable fellow with no wife. Think how embarrassed she would be. She speaks to her guests, "Oh, no, Imnak has forgotten to bring back the meat again." "Not again," they say. "Yes," she says. "He is a great hunter. Only he always forgets to bring the meat home. He is not too smart. He leaves it in the fields for the jards."" "It does not sound to me like the slave girl is overburdened with domestic labors," she said. "I suppose, objectively, she is not," I said. "Still, there are things for her to do." "Is she as occupied as the wife of Earth?" asked the girl. "Of course not," I said. "That would be foolish. The wife of Earth is, from the Gorean point of view, much overworked. When the husband returns home she is often, actually, engaged in labors. How can she greet him properly? A free woman's name, of course, tends to remain constant. A Gorean free woman does not change her name in the ceremony of the Free Companionship. She remains who she was. In such a ceremony two free individuals have elected to become companions. The Earth woman, as a consequence of certain mating ceremonials, may change her last name. The first and other names, however, tend to remain constant. From the Gorean point of view the wife of Earth occupies a status which is higher than that of the slave but lower than that of the Free Companion. The case with slaves, of course, is much different from that of free women, either those of Gor or Earth. Their names are simply given to them, as the names of animals. "Mahpiyasapa is not here," said the woman, kneeling near his lodge, one of his wives. Her gnarled fingers held a bone scraper. She was sharpening the scraper on a stone in front of her. On the scraper there were six dots. It has been used for six years. Two of her fingers had been cut off at the first joint. She had lost two sons. "Hurry, hurry, lazy slave!" I heard. I heard then the hiss of a switch and a girl, carrying two skins of water, cry out in pain. She was a white female slave. She was naked, collared, red-haired and large-bosomed. She belonged to Mahpiyasapa. One of Mahpiyasapa's wives, with a switch in her gnarled, mutilated hand, the woman with whom I had once spoken outside of his lodge before the attack on the summer camp, was supervising her in her duties. To be sure, if one prefers an inert, or frigid, or anesthetic, so to speak, woman, one may always make do with a free female, inhibited by her status, and such. They are plentiful, dismally so. Goreans, incidentally, doubt that any female is, qua female, irremediably or ultimately frigid. It is a common observation, even on Earth, that one man's petulant and frigid wife is another man's, to be sure, a different sort of man's, passionate, begging, obedient slave. I think it is indisputable that the average Gorean master knows a great deal more about his slave or slaves, inside and out, so to speak, than the average husband does of his wife. How many husbands, for example, will kneel their wife down naked and have her talk to him for two or three hours at a time? We want him to be jealous of us, and fiercely possessive of us; we want to be important to him; we do not want to be ignored or neglected; we do not want to be taken for granted or just be "there," perhaps almost unnoticed, as are so many "wives" of Earth; the slave, I assure you, receives a great deal of attention, perhaps more than she sometimes cares for; she, in her service, and subject to his command and domination, is muchly noticed; one of the cruelest of punishments he can inflict upon us is to subject us to the same neglect and indifference commonly accorded to an Earth "wife"; But, alas, some men, I fear, purchase girls largely for self-regarding, social reasons, for example, to impress others with their wealth, good fortune, or taste. But then, too, on Earth, do some men buy a certain car, or a certain house, or a certain painting, and such, largely to impress others? Too, on Earth some men will, in effect, purchase wives, so to speak, though the "exchange of coin" is less obvious. These women, as I understand it, are referred to as "trophy wives." There are differences, of course. On Earth, it is the women who sells herself and, accordingly, keeps her own purchase price, so to speak. That is not the Gorean way, of course. How many wives, I wonder, are lusted for. One respects wives; one lusts for slaves; wives are free, and are to be treated with dignity and circumspection; slaves are owned, and are suitable objects to be put to one's pleasure. The wife consents, if she feels like it, and is so inclined; the slave obeys. The wife may dole out her favors by carefully measured spoonfuls, like medicine, in a regimen designed to reduce and torment, and thus to control, an angered, frustrated, confused, manipulated, indoctrinated, unquestioning childlike patient; the slave kneels and hopes to be found pleasing. The powerful, healthy man is aggressive and lustful; what is he to do when he realizes at last he has been mistreated, denied, cheated, starved, and shamed; he may rise up with a snarl; let the wife be dismayed to discover she is to her horror then in the vicinity of a man; what does he care; let him kick the pedestal from beneath her, and find her a collar; or let him turn his back upon her inert, righteous petulance and seek something a thousand times more desirable, what he needs, and wants, a slave; the slave does not denounce the lusts of the master; "Do you attend the opera often?" she asked, pressingly. "Sometimes," he said. "Next Saturday we may see the new staging of La Bohème. A husband and wife, interestingly, were to sing Rodolfo and Mimi in that production. "I am a not a wife," she said, angrily. "No," he granted her. She wondered in how many marriages, in the secrecy of their homes, wives were the slaves of their husbands. But here on Gor, she thought, slavery is explicit, acknowledged, sanctified in tradition and law, and here men are the masters, at least of women such as she. Such things would be muchly different, of course, she supposed, if their relationship were to be changed, radically, for example, if the husband were to make his wife, at least in the secrecy of his own home, an obvious, explicit slave. Is that not what many vociferous proclaimers of her former ideology maintained that wives were, anyway, slaves? But suppose the husband did make the wife, within their marriage, his slave, explicitly. Then, surely, their relationship would have changed, considerably. No longer might they not really see one another. No longer could they overlook one another, so to speak. No longer could they take one another for granted. The slave cannot take the master for granted because he owns her, and she must be diligent in his service, and be desperate to please him. And the master does not take the slave for granted for he now owns her; she has now become to him a source of delight and pleasure. I can understand, she thought, how the same woman might be one man's wife and another's conquered, mastered, loving slave. Let such husbands, such weaklings, cry out in misery, she thought, learning that their pampered, bored, spoiled, troublesome, nagging wife is another man's kneeling licking, begging slave. Ellen, as she was a slave, was not permitted to leave the stable, or cot, without permission. This was quite normal, of course. Slaves, almost invariably, are not allowed to leave the residence of, or the grounds of, the master without receiving permission. When such permission is granted, the slave is expected to specify her destination, her business and her expected time of return. Such things may always be checked. The slave's life is a controlled life. The slave is not a wife, but a property, and, accordingly, as she is not an autonomous, independent contractee but a valued possession, she commonly finds herself an object of jealous regard on the part of the master. She is not respected, but, rather, sheltered, safeguarded and treasured. Masters, as with other valuable possessions, tend to take a detailed personal interest in their slaves, sometimes washing them, as one might a dog, combing their hair for the pleasure they derive from this activity, dressing them for their pleasure, having them display their beauty in a variety of aspects and attitudes upon command, and so on. Masters commonly wish to know everything there is to know about their slaves. To make a trivial comparison, few husbands take the time to really look at their wives, for example, to inspect, scrutinize and truly examine the bodies of their wives, and, one supposes, such attentions might be found disturbing by many wives, who might fear or resist such interests. On the other hand, the master will commonly have examined the bodies of his slaves with great care, familiarizing himself with each subtle, delicious curve. He is likely to note even the tiny hairs at the back of her neck, beneath her collar, pulling her collar out a little to see them. He will know, too, her every tiny blemish, and will commonly see them as interesting and delightful, as making her different or special in her way, or perhaps as beauty marks or patches, whose presence cunningly serves to enhance, by striking contrast, the beauty of the owned wholeness of her. Too, of course, as she is not a wife, but a chained slave, he may experiment with her, subjecting her, she willing or not, to a variety of erotic techniques, until he finds what she cannot resist, and what renders her helpless, what will drive her wild with passion, what might rob her of her last pathetic vestige of self and turn her into a writhing, ecstatic, spasmodic, begging slave. And so, you see, masters are muchly concerned with their slaves, and control them, and regulate and supervise them, with much attention and great care. They are not wives, they are properties. And thus they wish to know, it seems at all times, their activities, whereabouts, and such. It would not do, for example, to have them sneaking off for an assignation with a groom or drover. That is not their privilege, you see. They belong to the master. Initially, I had wondered if her response might not have been more to be expected of an ill-tempered, unhappy wife of Earth, a common form of contractual partner, or a Gorean free companion, a pledged partner, should her husband, or companion, appear at supper time with unannounced, unexpected guests. "Oh, yes," he laughed, "anything to escape the stable, the collar! For that what sacrifice would she not make? Even "No, Master," said Cecily. "She wants to be otherwise in your arms, not as wife or companion, but as slave." "You intend to sell me in the Middle East," I said, "to some sheik, some rich merchant." "No," he said. "To be held captive in some remote desert palace?" "That seems unlikely," he said. "He would buy me for a wife," I said. "Scarcely," he said. Now I supposed, if they might recall me, and find me of some interest, they might buy me, and hide me from their wives. "It is doubtless that portion of the palace which houses the higher women of Lord Yamada, his wives, concubines and contract women," I said. "Lord Yamada," I said, "has many wives, and many women." "There was once a beautiful young woman," he said, "of poor family, of lowly and ignoble birth, of the peasants. She came to the attention of Lord Yamada, who included her, for her beauty, amongst his wives." "She was very beautiful, more so than many of the other wives, and was a favorite. It is thought she was poisoned by higher-born wives. Lord Yamada chose ten of these by lot, and had them beheaded. Had she been of high birth he might have slain all." It might also be noted that while a daimyo is absent from the palace, it is often the case, though not always, that his wife and children will be guests of the shogun. Indeed, several might have been distributed amongst the shogun's daimyos, for diverse purposes, field slaves, slaves to a daimyo's wives, personal pleasure slaves to warriors, to officers, and even to the daimyo himself. Five days ago Yamada's household troops, most of his staff, his wives, his chattels, verr, tarsks, and slaves, had been moved south. Peasants returned to their villages; goods and wives returned to their houses and holdings; ornaments and coins were unearthed; fields were tended, palisades were rebuilt, gates were repaired; traders sought customers; and warriors, hungry and barefoot, weary, weapons in their sashes, drifted back toward rice and daimyos. He regarded her, naturally enough, given her beauty, as a possible wife. It seemed she bore some resemblance to one who had once been Lord Yamada's favorite wife she who had been the daughter of Haruki, and the mother of, amongst others, Nodachi, whom Haruki had saved from the strangler's cord. "Be my wife," said Lord Yamada. "You will be high amongst my women." "And you?" asked Aiko of Ichiro. "Be the wife of a great shogun," said Ichiro. |       
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