"Just Don't Scratch"
by Mayetra & Beryll
~Fahima’s POV~
Just a little bit lower… To the left a bit… Yes!
I cannot describe the pure bliss of having finally discovered the perfect spot on the wall to scratch the nagging itch on the small of my back. I don’t know what my problem is tonight. I’ve been itchy all over. It started with my back and stomach, but has moved on to include my arms and legs. Even now, as I claw at the tingling in my thigh, a new one develops in my arm.
I’ve gotten into a pretty good rhythm now. I can manage to shift my backside against the wall while moving my bottom across the floor. This leaves my hands free to tackle the rest of my body. I attack a new itch on my other thigh while my free hand digs into my shoulders.
A sudden realization that the room is quiet, aside from the sounds of my scratching, twitching, and grunts of relief, dawns on me. This is important. I tear my mind away from the difficult task of coordinating my squirming and scratching in an attempt to find some relief, to concentrate on why this silence might be important.
Lessons!
My master was lecturing about history or something. Truth be told, I have no idea what he’s been blathering on about. Looking up at him, I realize that he is staring rather expectantly at me. I hope he just didn’t ask me a question. He always gets grumpy when I’m not paying attention, which is why I’m usually careful not to get caught. I’ve gotten adept at following his monologues with one ear while my thoughts are elsewhere. Not tonight, however, all my concentration was on scratching.
I stop moving and blink at him, most likely with a rather dumbfounded look on my face.
"Master, could you repeat that please?" I hope to throw him off by making him think I was simply pondering the magnitude of whatever he’s been lecturing to me about and hopefully get him to repeat the question he most likely just asked me.
My master fixes me with a rather interesting look. "You seem… preoccupied tonight."
It is rather obvious that he had not, as I suspected, asked me anything. Grunting as the itchiness reaches a new intensity, I begin to squirm again. I must look rather amusing as I shift against the wall. Hunching my shoulders, I try desperately to get at a particularly brutal tickly spot between my shoulder blades. One hand digs into my tummy while the other goes to work on my upper arm.
Belatedly, I remember that my master has addressed me. I suppose I really should answer him.
"I'm just a bit itchy. Must be all the baths I've been taking for Crya's sake."
I just knew there was a good reason why I shouldn’t have to take them. Maybe this bout of irritation will prove to be helpful after all! Perhaps my master will take pity on me and declare that I only need to bathe every couple of days!
"Show me your back, little bird."
He seems to be ignoring my statement about baths. Well, I can’t be blamed for trying. Still, getting up would mean that I will have to put off find the perfect combination of position, movement, and wall space to satisfy the burning itch between my shoulder blades. However, disobeying my master is really not an option, he usually gets very testy when I don’t mind. Reluctantly, I stand and walk over to where he is sitting. Turning around, I present my back to him, I pray that he puts those long and lovely fingers of his to work and scratches the itch for me.
My hands drift from one irritated patch of skin to the next while my master lifts my tunic to inspect my back.
"CRYA!"
With a startled yelp, I practically jump out of my skin. His bellow echoes through the house. I wonder what I have done wrong! My master almost never raises his voice and the last time he called for Crya in such a manner, I ended up draped over her knees while she blistered my backside. I do not have much longer to ponder as Crya bustles into the room.
"Yes, master?"
There is a slight edge to her voice as Crya bows to our master. No doubt, she thinks I’ve been extremely naughty again to warrant our master calling to her in such a manner. I’d be more worried but right now, I’m more concerned with that nagging itch between my shoulder blades. I have managed to twist my arm behind my back and if I could only stretch my fingers a fraction higher, I might be able to reach it.
Our master is very calm as he answers her query. "This needs your immediate care."
I glance over and notice that our master is gesturing to my back. Great! Just what I needed is Crya looking at it. She will probably announce that Flower has given me fleas and I need extra baths to get rid of them.
I wince and wait as Crya examines my back closely.
"I’ll need to make a batch of cream to soothe this rash. If I am not mistaken, Fahima has the chickenpox."
Chickenpox! What does that mean? The chickens gave me fleas? I feel her push my hand away from my back just as I had finally reached the perfect spot. Leave it to Crya to ruin things.
"Don’t scratch, little miss, or you’ll end up with scars." She bows to our master and promises to return shortly.
Scowling at Crya, I reach back up to try and find that perfect arm position again. "Who cares about scars," I mutter under my breath. "I’m itchy!"
"Stop scratching."
My master gives the order in a quiet and firm manner, which makes it almost impossible not to obey.
Whimpering, I stop. "Master! It itches!"
"I know it does, little bird. You will be excused from lessons tonight."
Well that is good news. I’d rather be scratching but being released from lessons is a major boon. I brighten considerably.
"You are NOT to leave Crya’s presence tomorrow."
What is he thinking? I’ve already reached my ‘be pleasant and do girlie things with Crya’ quota for the week. I duly present my protests to him.
"But, Master! Flower and I had plans for tomorrow! We have an evil wizard to vanquish, a fortress to conquer, and a harem of dancing girls to rescue from a sand demon! And that is just what is on the agenda before lunch!"
I know I sound a bit whiny, but really, Flower and I have been plotting this out for a week. Surely, my master will change his mind once he sees how important it is. What if Ramesses II had been ordered to stay at home with a nursemaid instead of trouncing the Hittites. Egyptian history might be a bit different that is certain!
He simply sends a stern look in my direction. I hate it when he does that. It’s so hard to argue with. I try to think of another approach to get what I want. Selecting my best pout, I wrap my arms around his neck and press my cheek to his chest. I also take the opportunity to scratch the itches on my wrists while they are hidden from him.
In a well-practiced tone of sweet begging, I try again. "Please, Master. Surely, her cream will work wonders and there will be no need to confine me to the house tomorrow."
"Fahima."
The warning in his tone cannot be ignored. I’m going the right way for a smart bottom if I continue to push the issue.
"Yes, master." I say apologetically and then kiss his cheek.
Pulling away, I still wonder what the big deal is about getting scars from scratching. "Salim says scars are just tattoos with better stories. I don’t see why it matters if I have a few."
The look on my master’s face is one of impenetrable calm with just a small infusion of aggravated irritation and a tiny hint of amusement, which save him from looking like a statue carved with a severe and bored expression. "What kind of stories would you tell? I was itchy and I have these scars to prove it."
Sighing slightly, I realize that he does have a good point, still he is underestimating my overactive imagination. I’m sure I could come up with a rather juicy story laced with battles, nasty spells and an evil Jinn or two, to go along with the scars but I’m trying his patience so I simply agree with him.
After a few seconds, I can no longer stand still. "Can you just scratch the itch between my shoulder blades causes it’s driving me crazy!"
My master simply waits in silence. If I had the ability to read minds, I would swear that he just mentally ordered Crya to hurry her behind up and get back in here.
Indeed, Crya seems a bit frazzled as she rushes in a moment later. She gives our master a rather apologetic look before turning her attention to me. "Come on, little miss, let’s get you taken care of."
Scowling at the rather nasty looking paste in the bowl she is carrying, I move to obey her. She quickly strips off my clothing and begins smearing the cream on rather thickly.
I notice that our master chooses this moment to escape. Coward! I’m still rather miffed that he has confined me to the house. Actually, he said that I was not to leave Crya’s presence. I sense that I can turn his order to my advantage. I will definitely have to give it some thought.
The cream works wonders for the first ten minutes and then I start to itch worse than before. The nasty substance has dried into a rather thick crust on my skin. It cracks and bits flake off every time I move. Crya puts an extra sheet on my side of the bed so I won’t get it all over my master’s side. I try to sleep but it is impossible. Crya is sitting next to the bed, which is disturbing enough, but every time I try to scratch, she covers my hand with hers and stops me. Finally, the older woman brings me a rather foul tasting tea and tells me to drink all of it. From the taste, I know it is a sleeping draft and oblivion is just a few short minutes away.
*~*
I cannot lie. I am a grumpy, grouchy, sourpuss when I wake in the late morning. Even with the sleeping drought, I have not slept well at all. To make matters worse, my eyes are puffy, my tongue feels as if it is wrapped in cotton, and I ache all over. I send my master a scowl for simply looking so peaceful as he sleeps. I’d have kicked him for good measure but trying to scratch a dozen itches at once is a higher priority.
I swear that woman must be able to see through walls! I have just gotten settled down for some quality scratching when she comes bustling into the room and stops me.
I glance rather suspiciously at my master having the vague idea that he is somehow responsible for Crya’s rather abrupt entrance. He still looks as if he is soundly asleep so I can’t be sure.
*~*
Three baths! The indignity of it!
First, Crya had to wash off the nasty paste she smeared on me yesterday. Next, I was subjected to a ‘medicinal’ soak in the thickest, foulest smelling water I’ve ever had the misfortune to be around. Finally, I had to wash off the residue in a final bath of clear water.
To top everything off, that awful paste was reapplied. I am seriously considering running away with Flower and joining a caravan as a guard. I’d rather face a hundred sand demons that put up with a moment more of this torture.
Crya is watching me like a hawk.
I ended up having to throw a full blown crying fit after breakfast just to get her to take me to the stables to care for Flower. Actually, it was Salim’s timely reminder that I was under orders from our master to care for the beast myself and a rash was not enough to excuse me from my duties that finally convinced her. Allah bless him! But still, I was not in the mood to put on such a dramatic display.
Still, it is a fabulous feeling standing here in Flower’s stall and putting my plan into action. I whisper frantic instructions into my partner-in-crime’s ear. No one believes me when I say that Flower understands human perfectly, but I know better. My belief is reaffirmed when he brays once and bows his head silently.
Returning to the house and confined to the parlor with Crya, I wait anxiously for Flower to carry out my daring plan. It is not long before one of the lesser slaves bursts in shouting that the chicken hutches have all been undone and there are fowl all over the yard. I just knew teaching Flower how to open them would have its uses. Crya leaves without a backwards glance or word. Luckily for me, Salim is off in another part of the house.
Now, my master said I was not to leave Crya’s presence. He never gave me any orders on what to do if she left MY presence, so I don’t feel one ounce of guilt as I slip out through the parlor window. My faithful steed is waiting for me outside just like I instructed him to do. Climbing on his back, we head toward the wild parts of the villa grounds.
*~*
Flower indeed has been a most loyal and faithful friend. His side is just perfect for rubbing against, providing relief to my irritated backside. I tried rubbing against a tree first but the bark was too rough and it hurt more than helped.
This is the life. Free outside with no lessons on a glorious fall day. The sun is shining, the air is crisp and sweet, and Flower puts just the right amount of pressure against my back to assist my scratching. I feed him some sugar cubes I pinched from the sugar bowl during breakfast for just this purpose.
"FAHIMA!"
Camel dung! Salim has found me and he is not too happy if the ringing shout that just assaulted my ears is any indication.
I smile weakly at him.
He has his scary face on. This is really not a good sign. He doesn’t say anything at all but simply jabs his finger in the direction of the villa.
Sighing, I feed Flower the last of the sugar and reluctantly lead him back to the villa. Salim marches behind us and every time I start to scratch, he says my name in a low, menacing tone. He really, really, really is not in a pleasant mood either today.
*~*
She’s tied great bundles of cloth around my hands, and Salim helped! He actually held me down while Crya did the wrapping!
All because I accidentally knocked over the small table in the hall with the vase of flowers on it and scratched while their attention was on getting the mess cleaned up. It wasn’t like the vase broke! I made sure to hit the table in such a way that a small but thick runner of carpet would protect its fragile burden.
Crya swears that if I so much as think about trying to scratch again she will hang me by my wrists from the rafters! Not that I can with these great pads around my hands. I couldn’t even eat lunch properly and had to be fed by her, as if I were a tiny infant!
This is turning out to be the worst day of my life!
*~*
Agony! What were once tingles of irritation are now raging fires burning my skin! I can hardly think, the torture is so great. I want to die! I want relief! I really want my master to wake up right now and make it all go away!
I am hysterical with tears and I do not care. I am camped out on my master’s chest waiting impatiently for the sun to set and for him to wake. I feel as if I have been sitting here for years and years. I am blind with tears and my sobs ring though the house.
A detached part of my brain realizes that I sound just horrible. It is so bad that part me wishes someone would choke me, releasing me from my torment if only to stop the terrible sounds of my cries.
It is still before dusk when my master’s eyes snap open suddenly and he focuses on my face. My wailing has managed to awaken him earlier than normal. I try to speak my plea for relief but it sounds incomprehensible even to me.
He looks at me thoughtfully for a moment before reaching up and gently brushing a hand through my tangled and disheveled hair. The itching stops instantly.
I collapse onto his chest, too exhausted from my ordeal to even stay sitting up. Such bliss as I feel at this moment is indescribable. My tears are now ones of relief and my chest heaves and hitches as I struggle to get air into them. I managed to mumble something closely to the words – thank you, but even though they are garbled, my master seems to understand.
He wraps his arms around me, cuddling me close to his chest and gently kisses the top of my head. I cannot begin to express how much I love him at this moment as I struggle to keep my eyes open. Yawning once, I give up my fight to stay away and drift off to sleep, content that my master has made the world right once again.
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