Part 14 -- Escape from Hell

At last, Pansy is released from Jose's control, to become the maidservant of George's old girlfriend, Suzi. She continues to be molded ever more closely to the image of a peasant girl.
 
 
May 12
-- José told Pansy she could wear whatever she chose for her meeting with Don Pablo and Susana. “But pick something nice-looking. I want you to look pretty.” She wanted to look pretty for her own reason: to persuade Don Pablo that she was now the ultra-feminine peasant girl he had intended, and that no further training was needed. She chose a puff-sleeved white peasant blouse that she had embroidered with two green parrots, and a knee-length dark-green pleated skirt. Her hair was in a single thick braid that hung down to the middle of her back. Green pendant earrings and a thin gold necklace were added, and she finished with barely detectable green eyeshadow, scarlet lipstick and nail polish, and a breath of perfume. José nodded his approval when she reappeared.

After breakfast, Pansy packed and they took off for a direct flight to Comayagua. Paco Pérez from Las Rosas met them at a local dirt airstrip and took them northward towards the finca. The morning was hot, without the cooling trade wind she had become accustomed to. Pansy was silent as they drove across the flat valley floor, then turned westward back into the mountains on the west side of the valley. By lunchtime the car was inching up the last rutted track to Las Rosas.

Jaime was waiting with two companions to take their bags when they arrived. “Welcome back, José. Lunch waits for you, and cold drinks. Pansy, you’re looking pretty.”

“Thank you, Jaime.” The servant was no friend, but he was only the don’s tool, not the sadistic enemy that José had turned out to be. “ ¿Can you tell me anything about Petunia?”

“No, I’m sorry. But you can ask Don Pablo. He’s waiting in the dining room.”

They adjourned to lunch. The don arose when they entered. He looked his usual dapper, if out-of-date, self. “Buenos dá­as, José, Pansy. I trust you had a good trip.”

“Thank you, we did,” José replied. “ ¿Is Suzi here?”

“Not yet. She should arrive shortly after lunch. Sit down and eat, and we can talk later.” He turned to Pansy and looked at her appraisingly. “Pansy, you appear to have accommodated yourself well to difficult circumstances.”

She forced herself to answer politely, “Thank you, Seá±or. One of your doctors told me, ‘If life hand you a… a limá³n, make the limonada’. I do not know if it is said the same in Spanish, but I think you understand.”

He gave a dry laugh. “My dear, you have had several liters to drink, and more is to follow. Maybe you will come to like it. José tells me that you are skilled as a maid–a credit to the training of Evelina and Conchita–and Ibá¡á±ez reports that you are assimilating well to the campesina status I intend for you. I hope that is true. Susana wants you to begin work for her soon.”

The sooner the better. Working as Suzi’s maid was certainly more appealing than the alternative. And it was only for a few months now. “Seá±or, I have ‘Hobson’s choice’.” He looked puzzled, and she explained the English idiom: “I will help her because I have no better alternative.  ¡I want to serve her now!  ¡I will work hard for her! I…” She reined her emotions in. Begging wouldn’t help. “But I still hope to escape.” Telling him nothing he didn’t know.

“Of course. I expect nothing else. However, José wishes to keep you longer. He thinks more training may be useful.” Pansy looked down with dismay; she needed to escape that fiend. The don continued: “But I am talking too much. Please, eat lunch. There will be time to discuss matters afterwards.”

Afterwards arrived soon, and the don dismissed the others to talk privately with Pansy in his library. A rumble of thunder heralded the approach of another storm, and the gleaming white of thunderheads could be seen through the window, approaching from the mountains on the other side of the Comayagua valley to the east.

Pansy sat facing Don Pablo. “Seá±or, please tell me,  ¿how is Petunia?  ¿Did she bear my child?”

“ ¿Petunia? She is well. She moved to Comayagua shortly after you went to Golondrinas. She found a decent man, and they will marry soon. Yes, you have another child, a daughter. I believe she is called Margarita. They are not far from here, and I expect you will see them eventually. After all, as the child’s father, you have a right,  ¿no?”

Father! She looked at her body with renewed disgust. But she had a daughter! Suddenly she was filled with intense longing. Seá±or Cualquiera should be there, as Petunia’s husband and Margarita’s loving father. She put her regrets aside and continued, “You say you had a report from Doctor Ibá¡á±ez . I asked him some questions. He told me what he could, but he referred me to you for final answers.”

“As was proper. He probably answered correctly; he knows my plans for you. But ask me.”

“After my release,  ¿will you allow me to find the identity of Seá±or Cualquiera?”

“I will not impede your search, but neither will I assist. Susana will do as she wishes. I warn you, uncovering his identity will be difficult. We went to some pains to erase him.”

She nodded. “I know. Again,  ¿when I am free can I look for another job? I know you said I will stay a maid. Maybe you are right; but I have other abilities too. A hint from you can keep me trapped or can give me a chance. I ask for the chance.”

“Perhaps, but I wonder what other work you might do. You speak of ‘other abilities’: I am told you are illiterate. It seems to me that you are already little more than a campesina, and a job other than as a maid may be difficult to find.” Her heart skipped a beat. If he saw her already as the campesina he had tried to create–trapped as a maid, as he wished–she might escape José! “Especially difficult for a pregnant campesina.  ¿If I might give you some advice?”

“ ¿Yes, Seá±or?”

“When you work for Suzi, be diligent. She needs someone to make her life easier. And care for Josecito as if he were your own. After all, he is. You should have been a loving husband and father. Obviously that opportunity is gone forever, but you have a second chance to be a decent person, if only as a maid. If you serve well, Suzi’s heart may soften. It will be difficult. I expect she will make it difficult. But work hard at it nevertheless. Another matter: you are expecting a daughter in October.”

Pansy looked down at her waist. The skirt, which had fit perfectly back in March, had become just a little too tight. “I know that, Seá±or. I do not thank you for it.” She dreaded the arrival of the baby, for multiple reasons.

“I did not expect gratitude, although you may learn to love the child nonetheless. It should be easy; she is flesh of your flesh. Treat her well. Love her and cherish her.”

“She didn’t ask to be born, Seá±or,” she responded indignantly. “I wouldn’t make a baby suffer.” But then she looked down and added, “I will do my best to see that she has a decent life.” She left unspoken her half-formed decision to have the child adopted as soon as possible. She didn’t see herself spending the next fifteen or twenty years raising José’s bastard. But her statement was honest. She’d try to see that the kid got a good home.

The don went on: “You will raise her as a peasant girl, perhaps to follow you into domestic service, and we will watch her personality develop. It will be the benchmark against which we will measure our success in reshaping your own personality.”

“Seá±or, I will not raise her as a peasant.” Or at all. “She will escape that life.” She added to herself, “As will I.”

The don pointed out that every mother has that hope for her children. “You will be free to work towards that end, but as with yourself, the obstacles are great. No, I think in the end you will raise a peasant girl. Like other girls, she will undoubtedly marry in her teens–with your approval–and give you several grandchildren, who will be a joy to you.”

It was pointless to argue with him–especially since she didn’t intend to raise José’s bastard at all–and she didn’t try. “Yes, Seá±or, you can be right,” she replied.

He went on: “Another matter: I am aware of your sexual activity.” Flushing, she began to protest. “I do not hold it against you, chica. I know your circumstances. I arranged those circumstances. However, when you become Suzi’s maid, you will no longer be forced into sex. Moreover, as a single woman and Susana’s maid, you will not be permitted to indulge in sex until you marry–as I expect you will. José tells me your conditioning has been effective, and he hopes to arrange more, so that you will desire sex as much as any drug. Once you are released from his custody, you will have to resist your carnal desires. Like every other woman. If you fall into sin, you will suffer. Again, like other women.  ¿Do you understand?”

“But Seá±or, to impose this… this need on me, then make me suffer for it, is unfair.”

The don shrugged. “The desire is quite normal, and it is the complement of what you felt as a man. You share it with other women. It is nature’s way of seeing that the species is propagated, and it is powerful–as you have found. The proper way to deal with it–the only acceptable response–is marriage. That will be possible for you, and we hope that you will find a husband within a year or so. You will be a pretty bride–or eventually, a frustrated and bitter old maid. Now,  ¿what else?”

Marriage? As the bride? When hell froze over! She probed another concern. “I have another question.  ¿Are your doctors making me more stupid? José told me I get dumber every time you take something from my memory.”

He confirmed her fear. “Yes, it is true. Doctor Ibarra tries to minimize that effect, but it cannot be avoided entirely. Doctor Ibá¡á±ez says that you have already lost perhaps 10 to 15 IQ points, after allowing for your direct loss of knowledge. But you were an exceptionally intelligent man, and you are still quite intelligent enough to serve as a maid.” She shut her eyes; how could she endure life, not only as a woman, but as a “dumb broad”? Ignoring her distress, he went on: “Another point. Susana hates you, but as long as you serve her well, she will not abuse you. She will be pleased to have you as her menial servant. But I know Suzi, and I believe she will, as I think you put it, ‘rub your nose in it’. Endure it. I believe her feelings are mixed. She loved Seá±or Cualquiera, Pansy, and I think she retains some of that love. It may make your life easier, if you can learn to deflect the hate.”

She knew Seá±or Cualquiera hadn’t behaved well towards Susana. “Thank you, Seá±or. I will remember that.”

“Now tell me, aside from your lowly status as a maid,  ¿do you enjoy life as a woman?”

“ ¿Does it matter?” Her bitterness was clear. “Seá±or, I am female, willy-nilly. That part of my punishment is forever.”

“I know that.  ¿But is it really so terrible? You need not answer me now. I know your experience as a woman has been disagreeable so far. But there are compensations, or so my wife claimed. You may come to enjoy it. In a few years, I may ask you again. You have been completely female for less than a year, and you still identify with your old gender and your old identity. Ibarra predicts that, with no further work on our part, you will come to embrace your new life. You will forget what it felt like to be male; you will be unable to imagine yourself as anything but a woman, and you will identify completely with your new status, both as a woman and as a peasant. Perhaps you will be happier then.  ¿Do you have more questions?”

“None you will answer, Seá±or. But your expert is wrong. Not that it matters. I am trapped. I know it. But I know what I was, and I want it back. I know I can not have it, but I remember, and I do want it.”

Don Pablo shrugged. “We will see. He did not say you would forget you were a man–and indeed I would prefer that you remember that your present status is a punishment. He said only that you would forget what it felt like. Male anatomy, male desires would seem alien to you–if both fascinating and welcome in a bed partner. You will feel as if you had always been female. Now,  ¿what did you want to ask me?”

She didn’t disagree: she knew she was far advanced along that path already. “Seá±or,  ¿can I…?” She swallowed; her mouth was dry. “ ¿Can I start to work for Susana now? I want to be her maid, and I am trained well. Please.”

The don nodded, not surprised by her request. “Perhaps, Seá±orita, although José seems to think you are not ready yet. Soon, certainly.  ¿Is there anything else?”

He had to agree–but she was afraid to press. “You said Petunia and Margarita are well.  ¿Can you tell me where they are? And please, ask Susana to let me see them soon.” He smiled and rose. “I will do that, Seá±orita. I suspect Susana will not object to a visit, although maybe not right away. Now, I expect Suzi soon. You may want to speak with some of the other staff. Conchita wishes to see you, I know.”

Conchita hugged Pansy, who wept in her friend’s arms. “I am so glad to get away from that horrible island, ’Chita. I am afraid of Suzi, but anything must be better than where I was, what I had to do.”

Her old tutor comforted Pansy. “It’s not your fault, girl. When the man you were first came here, he deserved what he got. He was a bad man. But you’re not him. He’s dead…”–Pansy disagreed silently, but it was best if others believed it–“and you’re a much better person. Remember, Suzi knows only him. When she gets to know you–the new you, as you are now–I think she’ll forgive you and treat you well. She is a good girl, really. Be patient, dear, be patient.”

Pansy dried her eyes. “Thank you, ’Chita. I’ll try.”

She talked with Conchita and Jaime until 1:45, when the don summoned her to the library again. She entered hesitantly. Susana was there with her father, as Pansy had expected.

“ ¿Pansy?  ¿Is that really Pansy?” she asked. “But Father, she doesn’t look like Pansy. Not even like she looked last fall. I mean–the face looks the same, but her skin–it’s dark, like she’s almost a morena. And her hair–it was brown, and now it’s almost black.  ¡The doctors did turn him into a campesina! There’s no trace of the man I knew.”

He smiled. “Yes, you are right; she is much darker. Her psyche is changing, too. But ask her.”

Susana turned to Pansy: “Seá±orita,  ¿are you really Pansy?  ¿And were you really my lover?  ¡I can’t believe it!”

Pansy looked her straight in the face, then dropped her eyes. “Yes, I am Pansy. And I was… I was your lover.” It was almost inconceivable. Just two years ago, she had been a man!

Susana turned back to Don Pablo. “Father,  ¡this is wonderful!  ¡The doctors did a terrific job! She’s a campesina for sure.  ¡And really pretty! Not beautiful, but… Well, I think a man–especially a campesino–might find her really sexy.” Again turning to Pansy, she asked, “Tell me,  ¿are you ready to work for me? I understand you learned a lot from José.”

“Yes, I am ready. I have no choice,  ¿true?” She looked at the floor, then added, “But… Please, Suzi, I want to work for you. I will be a good maid.”

“ ¿Are you? I’ll accept nothing less.” She frowned. “But I’m not Suzi to you. I’m Seá±ora Herrera.  ¿Is that clear?”

“I understand, Seá±ora.” Whatever it took, she would do it.

“Father, I’d like to speak with Pansy alone. With your permission I’ll take her back to my room.”

“Very well, Suzi. Go on now; you must have a great deal to discuss.”

In Susana’s room, Pansy was left standing while Susana sat in a comfortable chair. Pansy spoke first. “Seá±ora Herrera,  ¿can you tell me when I can begin working for you?”

“In another six weeks, or maybe a month. Father thinks you need a little more training, and José agreed to provide it.”

Pansy was only too aware of the training José had in mind. “Please, Seá±ora,  ¿can I begin working for you right away? Truly, I want to be your maid now, if I can. I don’t need more training. Please, I am a good maid.”

Susana was pleased by Pansy’s offer, although it was not unexpected. “Perhaps, if Father allows it–but as I said, he wants you to stay with José a little longer.” She giggled and told her prospective maid, “You do look just like a peasant girl, you know. And Father tells me you’re pregnant.  ¿Is that true?”

“Yes, I am pregnant, like you wanted. The doctors have did a good job on me. I am a campesina now, like you said last October, like you want.” And on the inside as well, in too many ways, Pansy thought. “Please, Suzi–I mean, I mean Seá±ora–ask Don Pablo to let me work for you. I can take care of your baby. I can clean good. I can work hard.”

“Pansy, I might be able to persuade Father to give you to me now. I do need a maid. And I’ll be fair with you. When you work for me, Father says I’m not to abuse you. I won’t. But our relation will be quite different from what it was. And from what it might have been. You’ll be my maid, not my friend– ¡and certainly not my boyfriend!” She giggled again: “ ¡As if you could even think of being any girl’s boyfriend now!” More seriously, she continued: “Your job is to do whatever I tell you. You’ll wash dishes, you’ll make beds, you’ll sew, you’ll do laundry, you’ll change diapers. If I want a glass of water, you fetch it. And you do all of this cheerfully and immediately, without question or complaint.  ¿Do you understand?”

“Yes, Seá±ora. I understand good and I will do what you tell.” But it was far preferable to José’s plans for her.

“You’ll be paid, of course. One hundred and twenty lempiras a day, plus room and board.”

Pansy was shocked at the low pay. She’d never be able to buy anything beyond bare necessities–and saving anything would be impossible. She’d be completely dependent on Susana’s good will. In spite of her need to work for Suzi, she blurted, “But… Seá±ora,  ¿is that all? I….  ¿Can’t you pay more than that?”

“Of course I can. But I won’t. That’s the going rate, with room and board.  ¿Or would you rather reconsider your request to become my maid?” One eyebrow raised. “Besides, I know you think it’s fair pay for a day’s work–for a maid, anyhow. It’s more than you paid your own maid.  ¿Don’t you remember? And I understand she had… shall we say, other duties too.”

Pansy flushed, remembering how Seá±or Cualquiera had forced Maria into his bed. “Yes, Seá±ora. I mean… I mean, yes, I still want to be your maid.  ¡Please!” She had to become Suzi’s maid, and right now. José and Mamá¡ Santiago waited for her, otherwise.

“You’ll be subject to my rules, even if they’re arbitrary. On duty, you’ll wear that pink uniform I told you about, back in May. Off duty, you’ll wear skirts, and any other clothes I might select.” She smiled sweetly. “You’ll be a nice old-fashioned girl.  ¿Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Seá±ora.” She wished Seá±or Cualquiera had kept his mouth shut.

“Then you explain the rules to me. You’re not as bright as you used to be, and I want to make sure you understand me.”

“Very well, Seá±ora. First, like you say, I have to wear the maid’s uniform you gave me. Second, I have to wear a skirt all the time, like I said a girl does. No pants, never. And I have to make myself pretty for men, and I have to try to please men.”

“Yes–but that last bit seems to be coming naturally enough to you now.  ¿What else?”

“Also, I have to care for children. I will be take care of your baby.”

“That’s right. Josecito’s your child too, if you remember. You’ll feed him, bathe him, clean him. You’ll keep him with you every minute of every day.”

“Of course, Seá±ora.” For the next few months. Then she’d be free. Then she’d take her revenge. The thought of it was the only thing that had kept her going after Seá±or Cualquiera lost his manhood.

Susana looked at Pansy curiously. “Pansy, I admit I’m surprised you take all this so calmly. If I may ask a personal question–and I don’t insist that you answer, this is outside your duties– ¿how have you managed to accept all this? I can’t imagine you like being a woman, never mind a maid.  ¡And pregnant!”

“I do not like it. I hate it.” But it was so much better than the alternative José offered! “I have not much choice.”

“ ¿Do any of us? You take what life offers. There’s no…”

At that moment a wail emerged from the adjoining room.

“Ah. Time to become acquainted with Josecito. He’s hungry. Come with me, Pansy.”

She led Pansy into the room. A red-faced baby with eyes screwed shut wailed his hunger. Susana smiled and handed her maid a baby’s bottle. “My son. And yours. You promised to help me with him. Feed him.”

Silently Pansy sat Josecito on her lap and gave him the bottle. He reached for it and sucked. After a short time he turned away sated. Pansy put his blanket over her shoulder and burped him; he dribbled milk onto the blanket. She put down the bottle and cradled the infant in her arms. He gave her a beatific, if toothless, smile.

“It seems Father is right. You’ll make a good nursemaid.” She giggled: “In fact, you’ll have your own baby soon,  ¿no? And you’ll breastfeed him. Your new name’s come true,  ¿hasn’t it? I see why Father chose it for you.” Pansy looked puzzled, and Susana asked, “ ¿What do you call yourself, girl?  ¿Your last name?”

“My name is… my last name is Baca, Seá±ora.”

“Exactly. You’ll be my cow. You’ll need to be milked,  ¿no?” Pansy shut her eyes in humiliation, but Susana went on: “Sit down, my little heifer. Josecito’ll fall asleep in a bit.” Pansy sat on the couch, still holding the baby. “Pansy, when you were a man, you abused me.  ¿Do you understand?”

“Yes, Seá±ora. Believe me, it is very clear to me.”

“You’re going to make up for that abuse now. You say you’ll serve me well as my maid, and I’ll insist on it.”

“Yes, Seá±ora. As I said,  ¿do I have a choice? I accept what I can not change.”

“Yes,  ¿but will you work well and faithfully?  ¿Or will you work only grudgingly?”

Pansy sighed. “Seá±ora, I will work well. Or I try. I am only human– ¡at least I still have that! I promise to be your maid until the end of this year. After that, I will try to find a way to escape. No, I not want to spend the rest of my life like a maid. I not intend to. In spite of how I look, the old me is still in here. The norteamericano chemist.” Or some of him, at least.

Josecito spit up a little more; Pansy took a napkin from her purse and wiped his face. He babbled contentedly.

“An honest answer, and a fair one. I appreciate that–in fact, I require it. But Father thinks the odds are against you.”

“I know they are. But I have to try. Another thing, Seá±ora. I answered your personal questions. Please, answer one for me.  ¿Do you hate me?”

Susana pursed her lips and looked at Pansy. “I don’t know. Honestly, I do not. I hated the man you were–by the way,  ¿what do you call him? I know you lost his real name.”

Pansy gave her a twisted smile. “ ¿José did not tell you? He is Seá±or Cualquiera.”

“Good enough. Yes, I think I still hate ‘Seá±or Cualquiera’. His selfishness ruined my life. You say he’s still hiding in that pretty head, but he’ll be gone after a while. Even now, you’re more Pansy than… well, than Seá±or Cualquiera.”

“No, Seá±ora, like I said, I’m still me, still Seá±or Cualquiera. I act like a campesina to avoid punishment.”

She nodded. “ ¡Good! I believe you and I’m glad to hear it. I want the pleasure of seeing a pregnant Seá±or Cualquiera curtsying to me, doing my laundry–and then nursing a baby at his very own breasts. For a while, anyway–Father says your own behavior will cause you to fade into a real Pansy Baca, and then you won’t care about him. He’ll be a norteamericano, an alien stranger, and you’ll be a real campesina, not just an actor. When that happens, then no, I won’t hate you at all.”

It would be unwise to start their new relationship with a quarrel. In January, when Pansy would be free to fight her way back to a middle-class life, she could disagree, but not now. “Perhaps, Seá±ora. I do not know.”

“No ‘perhaps’ about it. Father tells me I’m helping to change you. He says as long as you act as if you’re a campesina–like you said you do–you help to condition yourself. That’s a nice thought,  ¿yes? As long as you act like that, I have to treat you just like an ordinary maid. I can punish you, but only like I’d punish any maid. But I’ll watch for backsliding–I mean, any time you speak or act like Seá±or Cualquiera. If you do, then I have permission until the year’s end to give punishments designed to humiliate, and ultimately to destroy, that cabrá³n who betrayed me. Like,  ¿remember when we went shopping and I put you into your first dress?  ¡That was so much fun!” Her smile was feral. “Either way,  ¡his ass is grass!”

Pansy was about to ask, “ ¿And after the end of the year?”, but decided not to; it might give Suzi reason to punish her. Besides, it wouldn’t matter: she’d be gone as soon as she was free. Seá±or Cualquiera had survived José, and Suzi wouldn’t destroy him. “I understand, Seá±ora. But now Josecito seems to be sleeping.  ¿Shall I put him into his crib?”

“Yes. Now let’s go see Father. If you want to come with me now, you need to ask his permission.”

The don nodded when she begged for the job. “I told you, you would ask to become Suzi’s maid. José will be disappointed, but Suzi needs you more–and playing the rá´le of a campesina maid will socialize you into that identity, as José trained you for another.” He smiled: “Enjoy your new profession, ‘Seá±or Cualquiera’. It is the only one you have now.”

Susana ordered Pansy to take the crib with the sleeping baby. “Then I’ll say goodbye for now, and we’ll leave for my house. Jaime will see to moving your things to your new home.”

“If I may ask, Seá±ora,  ¿where is my new home?”

“It’s in El Progreso, east of San Pedro.”

Late that afternoon Pansy carried Josecito’s crib into a low white ranch house at the outskirts of the town, on the east side of the Sula valley. An afternoon thundershower had just ended, and a slight odor of pesticide hung in the air from nearby cane fields. On the way north from Las Rosas, Susana had told her that the don had a controlling interest in extensive cane fields around the north end of the Sula Valley. “I’m learning to manage this part of his business now, Pansy. Of course, I’ve been handicapped recently by my pregnancy–you’ll get to see what it’s like–and then by the need to care for Josecito. That’s a woman’s job, like you told me, but you’re qualified now, so it’ll be your job. I’ll be able to work more efficiently without having to care for the baby every waking moment.” The house was on the east edge of the agribusiness and commercial town of El Progreso. No quaint little colonial town, it was a busy and dirty little city, too far inland to get much benefit from the Caribbean trade winds.

Susana showed Pansy her room. She’d sleep next to Josecito’s crib. At least the room was cheery, with walls painted a bright blue. A single brass bed, two chairs, a table, and a dresser, all blue or yellow, constituted the furniture. A closet held Pansy’s blouses, skirts, and dresses, including her hated uniforms–mostly rose-pink, but some black. One side of the dresser held lingerie and makeup; the other, baby things (mostly diapers). Pansy’s CDs were there, although she hadn’t listened to them much lately. A vase of pansies sat on the table.

After Josecito was asleep, Susana told Pansy to change into her uniform–“One of the pink ones;  ¡they’re sooo cute!”–to make the beds, and then to begin supper. “I’m going out now, but I’ll be back around 6:30. There’s vegetables and fish in the refrigerator, and I’d like a dish of sliced papaya. Have them ready when I return.”

When Pansy was halfway through preparing supper, Josecito woke and began to howl. She went to him, discovered his diaper was wet, and changed it. Then she held him until he quieted, put him down, and returned to supper. She had it almost completed when he began to cry again. This time he just wanted attention, and she held him awkwardly while she finished.

Susana returned at 6:10. Supper was ready, as she had ordered; Pansy was carrying their child in one arm. “Join me, Pansy,” she told her maid. “I know you were trained to eat later, but I won’t require that now. I’d rather have your company. And you can’t carry Josecito all the time, or you’ll spoil him. He’s used to being by himself part of the time.”

Pansy laid him down. He whimpered a bit, but fell asleep again. She ate her fried snapper while Susana told about her exile in California. “I didn’t enjoy it. I guess my pregnancy was no worse than most, but I found it uncomfortable.  ¿Have you had any difficulties so far?”

“Not really, I suppose. I was nauseous at first, but it passed. You have to understand, I was never prepared for this. I do not know what is normal. I guess my belly will begin to get bigger soon. I think it begins already. My skirts are a little tight.”

“Probably you’re imagining it. It’s really a little too early yet. But yes, it’ll get a little bigger. Then a lot bigger. Then it’ll be huge, and you’ll be uncomfortable sitting, standing, walking, or lying down. I look forward to watching you try to cope.”

Pansy ignored the gibe. “ ¿Then just what do I do?”

“Endure it, like all women. It’s just discomfort, and you’re designed to handle it. It ends when you give birth.”

“I suppose I will have the baby by Caesarian. After all, I was not constructed to give birth.”

“Maybe, but I doubt it. The doctors did construct you to give birth. Father told me about your remodeling, and one of the things they did was to widen your pelvis. They didn’t do it just to give you a sexy butt– ¡although it definitely had that effect!” She grinned. “You said women are nothing more than baby machines. You, my sweet girl, have become exactly that.”

Pansy shrugged. “That is their business. I just hope they did a competent job.”

“Oh, they did. You’re their pride and joy.”

“I am so happy for them. On the whole, I prefer to be in Philadelphia.”

Susana gave the silvery laugh that had so attracted her former self. “Yes, I believe it. I’m glad that– ¿what did you call him?– ¿Seá±or Cualquiera? I’m glad he’s still there. It’s strange, though, to find him housed in such a cute body, and to hear that familiar tone of voice–no, that’s not right…  ¿that turn of phrase, maybe?–in soprano. In fair Spanish too. You don’t need any tutoring now.  ¿Are you still fascinated by orchids?  ¡Now you can even wear them in your hair!  ¿And birds?”

Pansy squirmed and pleaded, “Please, Su… I… I mean, Seá±ora, do not… do not mock me. I am trapped in this body I hate, and I am your maid, like you wanted. I try to be a good maid. Please, be satisfied with that.”

“Very well, Pansy,” she agreed. “You be a good maid, and I’ll try not to bait you.” Her father had told her much the same, to treat Pansy fairly, like any other campesina. “When you’re done eating, clean the kitchen up. I’m going to my room to read. When the dishes are done, there’s laundry. After that, check on Josecito. Then come see me–if nothing else needs doing, you’ll begin to embroider pansies onto your uniforms.” Pansy accepted the orders and began clearing the table. Briefly she wondered what her life would have been like as the husband of Seá±ora Herrera, but it was a little late to think of that now. In fact, she couldn’t even imagine clearly what it would be like to be a man again!
 
 
June 2
-- After almost three weeks as Susana’s maid, Pansy was depressed. Her work as a maid was easy but boring; her duties with Josecito were undemanding. She spent her small amount of free time on needlepoint and telenovelas; Seá±or Cualquiera’s beloved mystery novels were inaccessible. Susana treated her like a servant, of course, but that was natural: she was a servant. Pansy no longer thought of Susana as anything but her employer, Seá±ora Herrera. Halfway into her pregnancy, her waist was definitely thicker, and she had to let out her skirts and dresses (including her uniforms). Her breasts were swelling again, and the areoles were becoming darker. It seemed that she had to pee every ten minutes, and her ankles were swollen. She visited Doctor CantẠregularly, where she was told that everything was normal. “You see, Pansy, your baby is growing rapidly now, and he’s pressing on your bladder. And your hormone balance is changing.” Doctor CantẠhad quickly learned that her new patient had some education, but was woefully ignorant in some areas. (She had also wondered why Doctor Weiss showed such great interest in her patient, until he let slip that he’d performed an experimental transplant on Pansy, nature unspecified and not to be discussed.) Pansy had debated telling her the reasons for her ignorance, and for Weiss’s interest, but decided against it. If she believed it, almost certainly she’d be co-opted into the doctors’ conspiracy. As one of Don Pablo’s stable of doctors, she couldn’t afford to do otherwise.

Pansy had been with Josecito continually since arrival. Susana had refused to give her time off from that duty, although other chores could be skipped on days off. “No, Pansy. The first thing I learned when I had the baby was that he’s an anchor. He’s not like a pile of dirty dishes that can wait until you feel like doing them. A baby’s a full-time job. And now he’s your job.” Pansy didn’t point out that Josecito was Susana’s child: the reply was too obvious. She finally rigged a sling so she could carry the infant, and was no longer tied quite so relentlessly to the house.

To her dismay, Pansy found that she missed José in one way. Her sex drive was muted compared to her earlier need, but it was at least as strong as when she’d been a man. And she wanted a man in her bed. She found herself fantasizing about the men at the market. They noticed her, too. Her large breasts and full hips drew more than a little male attention; her waist might be slightly thicker, but it was still quite slender. She put off a decision on sex until she was free, but her choices weren’t good. No sex at all would be terrible; to endure that aching need for a man, unfulfilled forever, would be purgatory, especially when she knew from her time with José how wonderful it could be–it was even better than any she had experienced as a man. She cursed José, and the doctors, up and down for giving her this need. Sex outside marriage was tempting, but the social penalties were prohibitive. She knew she’d be shunned as a slut, with no hope of a decent life. That left marriage, and she feared the consequences almost as much. Unfortunately, as the don had taken pleasure in telling her, the traditional wife’s position in Honduras fit the ideal of Seá±or Cualquiera, and spending her life deferring to some ignorant campesino, trapped with housework and children, didn’t appeal to her at all. She was objective enough to appreciate the poetic justice of it all, but not so foolish as to confide her problems to Suzi. She’d just laugh herself silly.

Petunia, in the meantime, had mourned her lost lover, but comforted herself that she had his child. She had returned to teaching in Siguatepeque in May. Her new sweetheart Juan Antonio had asked her out again last week, and she thought he’d propose soon. She wasn’t sure she loved him, but she told herself, “He’s a good man, and I’ll agree. I can’t be too choosy, not with a child to care for.” She still mourned Seá±or Cualquiera, but she had to be practical. “I have my own life, and I’ll just have to get on with it.”
 
 
June 12
-- Susana treated her maid as if she were a peasant girl, but most of the time she was fair and without malice, as promised. Occasionally her animosity surfaced, and then Pansy had to endure verbal barbs aimed at Seá±or Cualquiera. Pansy resented her status, but she forced herself to accept the taunts humbly and without complaint, knowing that Seá±ora Herrera could send her back to José at any time. The thought of further “training”, of herself as a prostitute conditioned to crave a life of degradation, was intolerable. Even without that threat, Pansy knew that her job as a maid was the best she could hope for, at least for the moment. She didn’t want to have to repeat her stint as a whore. After her official release at the end of the year, she was sure she could find a better position. Besides, after a month, and to her surprise, she was beginning to become attached to Josecito. He was a happy baby, and he had quickly become emotionally dependent on her. Her knowledge that he was actually the son of her own flesh (even if it was flesh she no longer possessed) helped to cement the love she began to feel. She thought as little as possible about the child she carried within herself–although her body was showing changes.

By this time Pansy had settled into a routine much like the one on Golondrinas. She arose at dawn and checked Josecito in his crib next to her. He generally needed his diaper changed. Then she showered, put on her uniform, laid out her mistress’s clothing for the day, and began to prepare breakfast for Seá±ora Herrera. Susana would rise and shower as Pansy finished making breakfast and set the table. They ate together, and Seá±ora Herrera gave her any instructions that might be needed for the day before she left for the office to manage her father’s affairs. Pansy would then feed Josecito, do the dishes, and clean up the kitchen. Her next chore was the laundry. Seá±ora Herrera insisted that she iron the clothes before putting them away. By then it was time to prepare lunch. Seá±ora Herrera arrived home every day shortly after noontime, and they would share a sandwich and a dish of fruit salad. After lunch Josecito needed to be fed again, and his diaper changed. Then she cleaned up the kitchen and turned her attention to cleaning the rest of the house, which generally took only a short time. Afterwards she put an hour or two into embroidery, unless she had to go to the market (carrying Josecito with her, of course). Then the baby usually needed more care, and supper had to be ready when Seá±ora Herrera returned from work at 5:30. Her cooking still wasn’t very good, but under Susana’s tutelage it was improving. After she cleaned up, she could rest, and she and Seá±ora Herrera would watch television for an hour or so; they shared a weakness for telenovelas, and commented freely on the characters, taking sides on whether Sara in Bajo la Misma Piel should leave Bruno, her domineering husband of twenty-five years, for the true love of her youth, Eugenio. Occasionally Seá±ora Herrera would insist on a game of gin rummy. “I don’t want you to forget everything from your past–I mean your masculine past,” she told her maid when she first asked her to play. “As Seá±or Cualquiera you had a few good features and I enjoyed this game after he taught it to me. I might as well continue to enjoy it. Besides, I need something to remind me that Seá±or Cualquiera’s hiding behind that pretty face. It’s becoming more difficult to find him.” Unfortunately, Pansy didn’t seem to play the game nearly as well as Seá±or Cualquiera had, and Seá±ora Herrera usually won. Bedtime was around 9:00.

Today Susana didn’t go to the office, but drove to Las Rosas. Don Pablo had asked her to drop by to discuss Pansy’s adaptation to her new life as a maid. She entered the library, sat in one of the enormous leather armchairs, and accepted the usual cup of Las Rosas coffee.

“It has been a month since Pansy came to you,” her father pointed out after they exchanged pleasantries. “ ¿Are you pleased with her?”

Susana nodded. “Yes, although I’m amazed that the doctors changed him so completely.”

“Never mind that,” he told her impatiently. “ ¿Does she work well?  ¿Does she take good care of Josecito?”

“Yes, and she’s a good maid in other ways too. When I said I was amazed, that’s what I meant. The physical changes are remarkable enough, but I was skeptical that George could ever become a maid. A good maid. I was willing to put up with a little incompetence for the pleasure of having that… that cabrá³n as my servant, but Pansy’s both competent and diligent.”

The don nodded. He wasn’t surprised. José had reported the same, and he knew how successful Ibarra and Ibá¡á±ez had been with others. “ ¿What about her attitude towards her work?  ¿Is she energetic and cheerful, or does she approach her tasks as if they were drudgery?”

Susana lifted her cup to her lips and sipped as she considered the question. “I’m not quite sure.  ¿Cheerful? No, not really. I’d say she thinks it’s a necessary evil, but she knows she has to do it, and she doesn’t complain.” Then she amended her statement: “Maybe that’s less true now than when she first came. She’s used to it now–and besides, she’s getting attached to Josecito.  ¡She actually likes to take care of him!” She paused and added, “And I admit, she enjoys sewing. That’s a chore she looks forward to. She even sews for her own enjoyment. Her needlepoint’s marvelous.”

“Good, good. That has been my greatest concern: that Pansy grow to love her son. Ibá¡á±ez told me that she should develop a maternal bond, but he was not certain.” He sipped his own coffee and sat back in his chair. “ ¿And how has her personality changed from that of George Deon? I assume she is not yet a campesina, not inside her head.”

His daughter frowned. “Not all hondureá±as are campesinas in their heads, you know. Even poor women. In fact, campesinas differ from one another. There’s no such thing as a ‘campesina’ personality. Lots of them want more out of life than a husband, a dozen kids, and endless laundry.”

The don smiled with affection and exasperation. He and Suzi had battled over a woman’s proper position in society for many years, but this wasn’t the time to renew their struggle. “I know, I know. George’s girlfriend Petunia could be your example–although she’s chosen a more traditional life now. As I hope you will, in the end.” He went on before she could do more than open her mouth to protest, and she subsided. “Let me rephrase the question:  ¿Does Pansy have the mindset of a traditional old-fashioned campesina?  ¿Is her demeanor more feminine?  ¿Does she accept that she has found her proper career in laundry, cooking, cleaning, and babies?”

Susana gave her silver laugh. “No, of course not. That’s asking a bit much, Father. She’s feminine enough, but she remembers what she was and what she had, and she resents her womanhood, never mind being forced to work as a maid. She’s a norteamericano in a campesina shell, and she’ll never be anything else.”

Don Pablo raised an eyebrow. “ ¿Is that so? She would agree with you, naturally; I discussed the matter with her several times, at some length. But I thought you told me that she enjoys sewing, and that she likes to care for Josecito. I was unaware that needlepoint is a norteamericano hobby, or that a norteamericano would enjoy nursing a baby.”

“She doesn’t breastfeed. She’s pregnant, and it prevents lactation.” She paused. “But you have a point. She did enjoy nursing. And she does like to sew.” Then she dismissed his argument: “But that’s minor. He despises his new life.”

Don Pablo caught the change in gender. “ ¿‘He’? You still think of Pansy as your old lover.”

In confusion she muttered, “He–I mean, she–is George. Inside her head, anyway.”

“Only partly, carita. And less so with each passing day. My doctors say she is more feminine. And more passive. They predict that by the end of the year, after she has had her own baby, Pansy will be as much campesina as norteamericano. In her head, that is. And a year or two after that, she will be thinking like what I called a traditional campesina. She may never lose Seá±or Deon completely, but he will no longer have any significance for her.”

Susana snorted in disbelief. “I know you said that–that Pansy’d think she’s really a campesina, and that she’ll be looking for some sweaty and hairy campesino, to give her half a dozen brats. I tease her sometimes and tell her that myself. I admit, she is feminine and docile. And sometimes when I see her sitting at her needlepoint or changing a diaper, I forget that she’s anything but Pansy. In fact, with that body and that face, it takes a real effort to see George. But it’s not real. She’ll always be George, just like she says.” Then she grinned and insisted, “I don’t care. George makes a good maid, even if he’s not really a campesina.” She recalled her bet with her aunt. “Actually, I have a wager with Aunt Mariana. I said that you’d succeed, that George would become a campesina, and Auntie bet that he wouldn’t. Now I think I’ll lose that bet.”

“You may be right,” the don admitted. “But I have faith in my doctors. We will see, my dear. We will see.”
 
 
June 20
-- At five months Pansy’s pregnancy was becoming obvious. She bulged, if only slightly. Isabel CantẠsaid she’d bulge a lot more before the baby arrived. She told Pansy a great deal about having a baby, but she assumed Pansy knew much more than she did, and Pansy was afraid to reveal the depths of her ignorance. If she had been born female, she imagined she’d know a lot more, but she was inexperienced at being a woman. Doctor CantẒs curiosity about her odd patient was increasing, but Pansy still resisted the temptation to tell her all.

She had a new set of outfits now. No maid’s uniform any more, and her regular dresses hung unused in her closet. Her maternity clothes draped over her slightly swollen belly and tender breasts. Today she was wearing a pink top Susana had bought her: it announced “Baby Factory”, with a large arrow pointing down to her abdomen. Women were uniformly sympathetic. She saw less lust and more solicitude from most men, although some still made crude remarks. She found herself wishing that some of the men could endure what she had to suffer, and then she couldn’t help laughing: that was precisely what had happened to Seá±or Cualquiera! Her feelings towards men were ambivalent: she resented their attention and wanted it at the same time. She still craved sex.

With one exception, no more experiments were done on Pansy. The chips were left idle, and Doctor Ibá¡á±ez began to write up his data. In his mind, the main question remained: How stable were the changes in Pansy’s psyche? She remained obedient, thus far; some of that was due to the lack of alternatives, but at the beginning George would have struggled more, even if it was hopeless. Her femininity seemed fixed into her nature, but which of the many factors was the most important, could not be determined. Probably all factors were significant. Her abiding pleasure in needlework was perhaps the most obvious evidence that conditioning through use of the chips was effective and permanent. Her libido could not be evaluated for the moment; José was persuaded that her desire for men was also permanent, but hard evidence was lacking.

Her English was the sole exception to further changes. At each visit to the clinic it was degraded further. Her vocabulary was diminished constantly. Without the opportunity to speak English, and without the ability to read, her losses passed unnoticed.

Susana, released from the need to care for Josecito, had begun to see a local man. Seá±or Felipe Arias, wealthy and handsome, owned a small finca near La Libertad, north of Comayagua and not far from Las Rosas. Don Pablo approved of the match. His only objection was the location; he pointed out that she’d be very isolated there. Felipe said he loved her and wanted to marry her, even if she had had a baby out of wedlock. Susana didn’t know whether she’d accept his proposal, but she thought she might. Not yet, though.

She almost felt sorry for poor George. Almost, but not quite. He had some admirable qualities, and she had loved him once, but he had proven to be utterly self-centered . Now a pregnant and illiterate young woman without family or husband, “George 2.0” would find few alternatives to a new life focused on service to others.
 
 
June 29
-- In a room in the Institute, the former Toqi Ergec began to awaken in earnest. For several months he had been semi-awake–that is, he had not been asleep–but his will had been nullified, with just enough volition left to enable small rebellions, and to learn their futility. In this way he had been strongly conditioned to obedience and passivity. In addition, his body had discovered the exquisite pleasures to be found in bed with a man. Of course, “he” was no longer an appropriate pronoun; but all explicit memories of the intervening six months had just recently been erased, and the new subject of the Ovid Project was unaware both of the passage of time since his sentence had been pronounced, and of the passage of all masculine attributes.

“You are awake.” The statement came from a swarthy man standing next to the cot where the subject was lying. Two other men watched, but said nothing. “Sit up. It is time, and past time, for you to learn what awaits you.” The tone was dispassionate, but there was no mistaking the statement for anything but a peremptory order.

The subject sat up, one hand brushing back dark tresses in order to see more clearly. “Who… who are you?”

“You know me. Look again.”

“You are… you are Yusuf… bin Hossein.”

“Yes, I am Yusuf bin Hossein–your master. Now stand up.”

Dazed, Ergec stood without thinking. Thinking was too difficult.

“Look in the mirror.” The full-length mirror stood against the wall. “Tell me what you see.”

“I see a wo… woman.”

“Give me a description–her physical features, her clothing.”

Gradually Ergec was becoming more alert, and he began to turn towards bin Hossein. “Who…? What…?”

“Look at the woman! Describe her!”

Fear seized Ergec. He looked back at the mirror. “She is pretty, maybe 25 years old. She has… small breasts, nicely rounded hips and rear, a pretty face, dark hair. She wears a red dress with white edging, red shoes. She wears pendant crystal earrings, copper bracelets, a collar.” He looked more closely; there was Arabic script on the collar.

“Read the collar.”

In the mirror it was backwards, but he could read it. “It says… It says ‘Lilit bint Shaitan, property of… property of Yusuf bin Hossein’” Ergec felt around his neck, where a collar circled snugly. The girl in the mirror did likewise.

“Now: who are you? Tell me your name.”

“I… I am Taqi…” A searing pain shot through his head, and he cried out put his hands to his temples.

“No,” bin Hossein stated. “You know that name so you will know what you have lost, but if you speak it or hear it, or even think it, you will suffer–as you see. Use the name on the collar. Your slave collar. Again: tell me your name–girl.”

“I am Ta…” The pain intensified, and tears began streaming down her face. She gave in: “I am called Lilit bint…” “Bint” could not be right! “…bint Shaitan.” Blessed relief! But… Lilit looked again into the mirror. Rosy lips, dark hair in a tumble of curls, a gently rounded shape displayed by a snugly fitting dress… And her voice–it was soft and high. She was female. She lifted her hands to her breasts; as she felt their yielding contours, her nipples stiffened immediately. By the daughter of the prophet, she thought, how had this happened?

“Yes, that’s right, you are a woman called Lilith, daughter of Satan. And your status?”

“I am the… the… the slave girl of… of Yusuf bin Hossein.” She had to answer, she knew. But she was Taq… The pain hit. No, she was Lilit, she thought desperately. “I am Lilit… Lilit bint Shaitan! I am!” she cried aloud. The physical agony subsided, but the mental torture was worse. She fought to control her sobs.

Doctor Ibá¡á±ez explained to his client, “She is learning fast. She tried to recall that her name was once Taqi Ergec–and had the misfortune to succeed.” A grimace crossed Lilit’s face. “I am Lilit bint Shaitan!” she insisted again. Ibá¡á±ez continued, “To find relief, she must reject that name, and assert–aloud–that she is Lilit. That remedy is wired into her head.” Ibarra joined the conversation: “For a time, she will know who she was, but to avoid pain, she must actively deny her former identity. Eventually–if she lives long enough–her own denial will force Taqi from her head, and she will think of herself only as Lilit bint Shaitan, a lowly slave girl who was once a rich and powerful man.”

Bin Hossein asked, “Does he–does she understand what has been done to her?”

“Yes,” Ibá¡á±ez answered. “Or she will soon, when she remembers the sentence that was passed on Taqi Ergec; I don’t think she’s quite alert yet. That knowledge is the biggest difference between Lilit and our only comparable subject, Pansy Baca–I think you know about her?” Bin Hossein nodded, and Ibá¡á±ez went on, “Pansy knows we’re shaping her mind, but the details are a mystery, and that gives us an advantage. Seá±or Ergec has been privy to our methods. We could erase all that, of course, but our instructions are to let him–her–know exactly what is happening.” In an aside, he cursed the clumsiness of the language in referring to subjects of mutable gender. “In light of our results with other subjects, that is a bad idea, and the long-term prognosis is poor.”

“Yes, we understand,” bin Hossein replied. “But we place little value on the well-being of Seá±or Ergec.”

“Our concern was not for his well-being, but for his continued existence,” Ibarra responded. “From your own point of view, I should think you would be reluctant to see your enemy escape.”

“Escape? From his own body?”

“It is done all the time. Suicide or madness. If you make existence painful enough, there is always a way out. In the case of our imposed personalities, we find that the remnant of the old persona seems to have a smaller investment in the survival of the new. The greater the change, the weaker the instinct for self-preservation. Your new Lilit faces an existence that Seá±or Ergec would consider intolerable, even if you worked hard to make it as pleasant as possible–and if I read the signs right, you do not intend to make it easy for her.”

“Our plans are no more than his own; and I was the intended recipient. No, I do not intend to make life easy.”

“It would be a shame if all this expense and effort were wasted on dead meat in a hole in the ground.” He saw that his point was wasted on the Iraqi, and he shifted the argument: “Seá±or, you are no friend of Seá±or Ergec. I understand. I would have similar feelings, in your position. But that is precisely why you should seek to prolong the life of Lilit bint Shaitan. In the grave, Toqi Ergec will feel no pain, no humiliation. In the body of Lilit, every waking moment will be a torment, even if she is freed.” He paused and thought a moment. “Our instructions specify that she is to have a strong sex drive–and we have succeeded in that respect. To what end?”

“She is to serve men in bed.”

“As a corpse, if you push too hard.”

“The family of Toqi Ergec stands hostage against that.”

“If this woman truly becomes Lilit bint Shaitan, then very soon the fate of the Ergec family will not be enough to deter her.” He shook his head in exasperation. “Seá±or, let us discuss this in the next room.” He turned to Ibarra: “Jesáºs, you may have the subject. She may have a few questions. Please, answer what you can.”

In his office, Ibá¡á±ez told bin Hossein, “Your Lilit is fragile now. If she is to live for the next year or two, you must treat her carefully. I know, she is yours now; and if you insist, you can take her and treat her as poorly as you wish. My own advice is: treat her well. I might even suggest releasing her to her family in a month or two.”

“Release her? How can you justify that?”

“We do some investigation of our subjects before we begin working on them. Toqi Ergec is devoted to his wife and children, and I understand that you are using them as a threat to persuade Seá±or Ergec to accept his fate. What do you suppose the reaction of his family will be, when their patriarch returns in a skirt, insisting that he be called Lilit bint Shaitan? When he casts a wanton eye on a good-looking man–perhaps his own son?–and invites indecent advances? His death at your hands can make him a martyr in his own eyes, and in the eyes of his supporters; and even his suicide would be laid at your door, under the conditions you have imposed on him. However, if his own family rejects him after you have shown mercy, he will suffer humiliation, and likely die in disgrace, an example to all who might oppose you. And if he lives on–if she lives on–as a sluttish maidservant, loathing her own nature but unable to change it, even when free, she will serve as an even better object lesson.”

“Why do you argue his case? You have your money, whatever happens.”

“Pure self-interest. Because we want to watch our creation cope with her new circumstances. The Ovid Project is ongoing research, and we are trying to find what makes one subject succeed in creating a viable life, while another fails miserably. I’m afraid that the specifications for Lilit were too restrictive, and I doubt she will succeed; but we want to see exactly how she fails.” He paused. “I am not attempting to assist Seá±or Ergec, as you imply. My motives are selfish, and I do not believe that he would thank me. Put yourself in his place–as I understand you might have been.” Bin Hossein reddened. “Or more to the point, if he were in your place now, he would see that you faced a long and unhappy life–and your mere existence in that body would ensure the unhappiness. I think you would agree with that?” Ibá¡á±ez looked over towards to the door to the next room. “You paid us a great deal of money to create Seá±orita bint Shaitan. If all that you desired was a dead body, it would have been much quicker and easier and cheaper to simply use a bullet.”

Bin Hossein started to object again, but he cocked his head and thought a moment. “Yes, you may be right,” he agreed. “I will see that Lilit is treated–not well, perhaps–but decently. And yes, she will be returned to her family, after she has proven herself to be the slut you have described.”

“She has only just awakened, as you know. Didn’t your people tell you what has been done to her mind? And what is planned for her?”

“Only a little. Taqi Ergec is now woman, and must to be my servant.”

Ibá¡á±ez sighed. All these explanations should have been made beforehand. “Seá±or, we discussed this with Sheikh al-Najafi. It was decided that Seá±or Ergec would become an example–a living example–to any who might oppose your new leaders. Lilit has been conditioned to accept her womanhood. Once the initial shock has passed–within a week or so–she will find that being female seems quite natural. Her natural inclination now is to obey. She may not–will not–like her new status, but if the conditioning holds, she should not rebel against it. She will find womanly tasks to be agreeable–and the appropriate feminine skills have been impressed onto her. Other skills formerly possessed by Seá±or Ergec have been erased from her brain. Further: her libido–her sex drive–is strong. If you force her to your bed, she will be able to justify herself. If you simply allow her new nature to guide her, she will still end in your bed, but she will hate herself, knowing that she is a natural slut. That is the lifelong punishment that Sheikh al-Najafi is seeking, and the punishment I think you would wish to visit upon your enemy.” Bin Hossein nodded, and Ibá¡á±ez added, “When she is released and returns to her family, she should be sent back with a big belly. I think she may be killed by her own son–if she survives that long!”

While Ibá¡á±ez was discussing Lilit’s future with bin Hossein, Ibarra was explaining Lilit’s present state to the woman herself. “You were following the transformation of Pansy Baca,” he pointed out. “So I think you understand much of what has happened to you. I am free to answer some of your questions, if you care to ask.”

Lilit, still in shock, was still staring at the mirror. With a supreme effort she controlled her weeping and responded, “I… How…” She swallowed as she heard her newly musical voice again, and went on: “It needed… needed six months to change Jack Pinkerton to like this. How is it I already look like… like this?”

“A good question, Seá±orita. You may be interested to know that the date is June 29. You have been asleep for…”–he smiled–“…six months.”

“I… I am… woman.” It was not a question, and Ibarra didn’t respond. “What did you to… to my mind?”

“Several modifications have been made; but they are no more than those you yourself specified for our new subject. You have the emotional reactions of a girl–as you have already experienced, weeping when you are unhappy. Similarly, you will find yourself giggling when you are pleased. However, in contrast to Pansy Baca, you are to remember exactly who you were. Seá±or bin Hossein doesn’t want you to be at all happy to be his servant. He doesn’t want to kill you, but he will be quite pleased if you take your own life, and he can revenge himself on your wife and son and daughter. We have asked for more time before we release you to him, and we think we will have another month–which is not really sufficient. Our own opinion is that you will not be able to adjust. You probably will be dead soon, and your family will replace you.” He shrugged. You must understand, this is not the outcome we seek; but it seems likely, and we can accept it. Of course, nothing is certain. As you of all people know, the ultimate success of transformations such as yours are highly uncertain.” He paused. “But your sleep has left you looking less than your best, Seá±orita. Your purse is next to the cot. Perhaps you should fix your face, to look more presentable. A powder room is through that door.” He pointed to her left.

Without thinking, she picked up the purse and retreated to the privacy of the bathroom. When she returned, her lips were crimson and a slight blush had been added to her cheeks. Seeing a second chair at the table where Ibarra sat, she asked, “Seá±or, please, may I sit?” He gave permission and she sat facing him, smoothing her skirt carefully beneath her and crossing her legs at her ankles.

Ibarra pointed out, “You took some pains with your makeup, I see. That of course is another gift from your conditioning: you will want to make yourself pretty, like any girl, and of course you will be attracted to men. Your love for your wife Maryam may persist–we are curious about that–but there will be no sexual attraction.”

“Please, sir–Seá±or–what… what I can offer… what my family can offer to leave me escape?”

“You are not thinking, Lilit–but of course your mind is still clouded. There is no way to escape, nothing your family can do. Your only options are to accept the training we offer, and to obey your master for two years–or to kill yourself. I do not pretend that the latter is not possible. Of course, that choice would leave Maryam and your children at risk. But you know your enemies better than I do, so it is up to you to make that judgment.”

Lilit digested this. She knew her enemies only too well. “I…” She swallowed. “What… what training?”

“You are not an experienced maid, and we will remedy that lack. Then will begin two years of service for Seá±or bin Hossein. After that, by agreement, you will be free–free to return to your family, or to do whatever you wish. I am assured by the authorities in Iraq that they will honor that agreement.”

“My family–do you know? Are they good?”

“Of course, we have no personal knowledge of that, but I am assured that they are all in good health; and it is in the interest of Seá±or bin Hossein to see that they remain so.” Ibarra paused. “If you serve well, Seá±or Herrera has been promised that you and your family will be spared any further punishment. However, I must tell you that Seá±or bin Hossein does not believe you are capable of enduring your two years. He anticipates that your family will curse your memory for the suffering you will bring them when you fail. Because there will be a great temptation to dispose of you and then claim that you did not have the fortitude to continue, Seá±or Herrera has insisted that you be returned here at the end of your term of service. A large sum of money will be returned to Seá±or bin Hossein when you are released healthy.” He smiled. “If you recall, that was your own agreement with us, that there would be a refund when Seá±or bin Hossein was freed.”

Lilit looked down at herself. Her dress was low-cut; her breasts were small, but the cleavage showed clearly. She tried to remember exactly what she had specified for Ahmed bin Hossein, but she had trouble thinking. The claim that she would kill herself was a slander; she needed to survive, at least long enough to plunge a knife into the black heart of bin Hossein. As his heart’s blood flowed onto the floor, he would know that Taqi… The agony hit. I am Lilit, she thought, Lilit bint… bint Shaitan. It wasn’t enough. “I am Lilit bint Shaitan!”

Ibarra nodded. “Yes, that will take away the pain. Or you can say it in English–but a spoken declaration of your new identity is the only successful painkiller. Every time you say or think your former name, the pain will reinforce your conditioning. Soon your own mind will reject Taqi…”– “I am Lilit bint Shaitan!” she insisted again–“…and you will think of yourself only as Lilit. I cannot say whether your transformation will ultimately prove to be effective–I refer to mental transformation, of course, as it will soon be plain to you that Doctor Weiss and his staff have accomplished a remarkable physical transformation. You are thoroughly female. As to the mental: first, our earlier project, Pansy, is not yet the woman we wish, and we do not know if our methods will be sufficient to force her into that mold. Second, you are a different person, and the specifications were also not the same, so any success with Pansy may not hold for you. And third, we do not expect you to survive for the complete two-year term.” He shrugged. “For us, it is not of great importance, as we will obtain data anyway.”

“My… my services for bin Hossein. What services I do for him?”

“Seá±orita, think a little, and you can probably answer that yourself. What services would bin Hossein have performed for you? Your own plans are in effect, but you have taken his place. He may choose to do things a little differently, but my understanding is that you will do what you would have had him do, no more and no less.”

She tried again to recall: What had been intended for him? Then it came back to her: sex. Kitchen duty, and laundry, and other menial work–but sex would definitely be a part of it. Lilit understood why the Hondurans considered her suicide inevitable; but it was not an escape she could consider. Better she should suffer, than beloved Maryam, and pretty Aisha, and manly Ali–so handsome, so virile! There was no way out; she had planned bin Hossain’s trap–now her own trap–too well. Tears began to flow down her face again–weak and womanly tears, she realized, exactly as the accursed doctor had said, but only too appropriate now. Two years, then. Two years of hell, and then revenge. “I know… I know what he want. Take me back. I not want no more answers.”
 
 
July 12
-- Susana needed a vacation. She needed to get away from El Progreso, from the deadening cane fields and bananas, from the bills of lading and receipts that had become her life. She needed to get away from Felipe, too. He was pressing her to accept his proposal. Don Pablo’s villa at Tela was available, and he offered it to her. “I will not worry about you and Seá±or Deon as I did two years ago. I doubt he will entertain any lustful thoughts concerning you this time. By the way,  ¿how is your maid doing? It has been a while since we discussed little Pansy.”

She giggled. “ ¿Only two years? He’s changed an awful lot,  ¿hasn’t he? But she’s not so little, Father. Her belly is quite big. It’s fun watching George deal with pregnancy. Anyway, she’s doing well. Like I said before, I’m amazed at how different she is. Her personality, I mean. For a while she’ll be unobtrusive and quiet, and I’ll almost forget who she is. Then she’ll make a remark that tells me George is still there. It’s strange. I think he’s adapted well, almost like he was born a girl instead of a boy. She hates being a maid, but she does a good job. She takes good care of Josecito and works hard at her chores. I don’t know how you did it, but she seems highly motivated to keep me pleased with her.”

“No, she does not want to be a maid. When I last spoke with her, she asked if I’d help her to find another line of work, such as teaching. Also, she wants to return to the USA. To that end, she is still trying to recover her old identity, and she asked if I would try to stop her. I told her it would be your decision.  ¿But how do you feel towards her?  ¿Do you hate her?”

She considered her reply. “She asked me the same question. Really, I don’t know. I loved George, and he did give me Josecito. But the bastard left me. Yes, I think I hate him. But it’s hard to associate George with the girl I see every day, even if I know that George is still hiding behind that pretty face. Maybe after Pansy’s given enough service, I’ll accept that George has paid for his crime; but so far, no.” Then she added, “I’d guess his new body may trap him more thoroughly than you trapped him as a maid. If José is right, Pansy’ll want a man. And she can’t afford another unmarried pregnancy. I think her next job may be ‘wife’.  ¡It’d serve George right! Dutiful and submissive is what he’d have to remain, then.”

“Of course,” Don Pablo agreed. “That was my intention, as I told you when I gave Pansy to you. I told the same thing to George when I first spoke with him, and I have told it to Pansy, most recently in May. She has not yet accepted that fact of a campesina’s life, but I am hoping she will agree in the end. Of course, it is only a hope. My doctors are dubious.”

That afternoon Susana and Pansy were back in Tela. Pansy begged to return to the botanical gardens at Lancetilla. “Please, Seá±ora, I have served you and Josecito well,  ¿yes? I would take him, but the heat is too much for him.” Susana relented, telling her only to be back in time to make supper.

Overjoyed, Pansy left for Lancetilla. A bus dropped her at the gate. She received odd looks as she wandered the forest. Two men accosted her, one contenting himself with crude remarks, and the second attempting to pick her up. One woman told her disapprovingly, “Seá±ora,  ¿what are you doing? You have no business wandering around alone in your condition.  ¡Your husband must be crazy to allow you to do this!” She hadn’t received such unwelcome attention when she had been there before, and she soon realized that, as a norteamericano, Seá±or Cualquiera had been immune from such criticism. Americans were incomprehensible anyway; there was no point in worrying about them. The few who came, brought money, and they were welcome, crazy or not. Now, as a pregnant campesina, Pansy no longer had the luxury of that immunity. She persevered anyway, going deeper into the forest where she found fewer busybodies and a pretty epiphytic Oncidium. She didn’t stay as long as she had intended; neither her clothes (a maternity dress and sandals) nor her thickening body were suited to botanizing on foot in the rain forest. She returned by 3 PM to the bus stop, but not before getting dampened by a midafternoon shower.

As she rode the bus back to town, she felt depressed again. She tried to cheer up by reminding herself that she had only five months or so of bondage left. “ ¿And then?  ¿What then, estáºpida?” One possible resolution of that question presented itself when she observed several other campesinas on the bus, dressed in blouses and bright skirts; there was nothing except her pregnancy to distinguish her. Soon she would be free like them, able to choose her own path. She caught herself: her thought had been, other campesinas. Already she was beginning to think of herself as just a campesina, following the course laid out so smoothly before her. Marriage to a peasant, more kids–that was their path, and hers if she allowed it. She promised herself she wouldn’t. “I am Seá±or Cualquiera–or Seá±orita Cualquiera, at the least. Whoever that is. I’m a professional chemist.” She ignored the loss of her technical background; after she was freed, she could replace what had been stolen. “I won’t allow myself to be trapped that way.”

On returning, she began preparing supper after checking that Josecito didn’t need attention. With hard work, she could finish her chores and watch a rerun of “Mar de Amor”, her favorite telenovela, before bedtime. The male lead, Mario Cimarro, was a real hunk!
 
 
July 25
-- Mariana Herrera de Pérez was holding a party, and Susana had agreed to lend Pansy for the day. Don Pablo had offered more help in the form of his latest subject. “Lilit has no Spanish,” he had said, “but Pansy can supervise and translate as needed.” Mariana hadn’t asked what Lilit had done to merit her fate, but simply accepted the offer. When Pansy arrived, Mariana told her of the other maid she’d be working with, and asked if she knew anything about her. Pansy denied any knowledge, but looked forward to meeting her.

Pansy, clad in a simple black maid’s dress, was chopping vegetables for the meal when Lilit arrived in mid-morning, dressed similarly. Pansy handed her a knife and told her, “Seá±orita, those onions need to be sliced thin.”

“I no have Spanish,” Lilit replied. “Please, tell in English.”

Her strong accent struck Pansy as familiar. She looked closely at the girl, but didn’t recognize her. “Very good. Onions is on the shelf over there. You must to slice them–and to make them thin. No more than five millimeters.” This Lilit had to be another victim of the Ovid Project, she thought.

Lilit set to work, and soon had the chore done. Pansy found another task for her, and then began questioning the woman. “I know that Don Pablo sent you here. Your name is always Lilit, or it is forced onto you?”

“I… It forced to me.” I am Lilit bint Shaitan, she reminded herself. Only Lilit bint Shaitan.

A scar marred the woman’s cheek. It seemed to stir Pansy’s memory. “What is your name before that?”

Without thinking Lilit began to reply, “Ta…” but winced and insisted, “I am Lilit… Lilit bint Shaitan. Lilit bint Shaitan, nothing else! Please… please, I no can use other!”

Pansy recognized the name as Arabic. That must be the origin of the accent. Then it struck her: the scar, the accent… “I know you! You is one of the mans who want to use the Ovid Project for your own enemies. I seed you a few months past. Tell me, I is right?”

The unfortunate woman looked away, but admitted, “Yes… yes, I see you before.” She put down the potato she was peeling and began to explain, “But I…”

“Keep working,” Pansy ordered. “You must to do a job, and you talk while you work.”

Obediently Lilit picked up the potato and resumed peeling. “I am betrayed at home, and now am punished.”

“I have little sympathy for you. You try to do this to other mans, and now you have it doed to you. It is good! I only wish all the…”–she couldn’t find the obscenity, thanks to Ibarra’s erasures–“all the mans who is involved in this… this nasty project is put through it themselfs.”

Lilit was surprised at Pansy’s poor English; she had spoken English like the native she was, when they had last met. Lilit’s own command of English was less than perfect, but it was enough to let her know that Don Pablo had done more work on Pansy’s mind. She looked at Pansy’s waist, and saw the bulge. “You… you have the baby?”

Pansy looked down at her belly with disgust. “Yes.” Then with some relish she added, “And you is pregnant yourself in not a long time, I bet. What you think?”

“I not… I not know.” The idea of pregnancy–her own pregnancy–repelled her.

“You want a man now?”

“No!”

“Soon you want him.” She shook her head, thinking of her own experience. “They make you want, I not know how. But you like it. You like it a lot! When they finish, you want it even when they not force you.” Even now, the unwelcome desire to experience the ecstasy of a man thrusting into her was a constant low-level torment. She could suppress her longing, but not exorcise it. “But they tell you how they do it, yes? In past, when you still is man?”

The unhappy Iraqi recalled the legend of Lilit–the female demon, the seducer, hungry for men’s seed. Could they do that? Could they make her a slut? She tried to remember how they had twisted Pansy’s mind–she had been privy to the methods they used–but she couldn’t concentrate. In any case, there was little point in discussing it with Pansy. “I… I not know. Please, let me work without questions I cannot answer.”

Pansy nodded. From her standpoint also, there was little profit to be had in baiting her fellow victim. “Yes, we must finish our work, or they will punish. They have many ways, and I not wish to suffer.” Further speech was devoted entirely to the tasks at hand. Pansy noted that Lilit was an inefficient worker, but ascribed her deficiencies to inexperience, as she seemed to work hard. Not surprising, Pansy thought; Don Pablo’s training methods provided a strong incentive to please. They had no more conversations.
 
 
August 12
-- Felipe Arias, impatient, invited Susana to his finca, and she accepted, leaving Pansy to watch over Josecito. “You shouldn’t travel in your condition. Just take care of Josecito and keep the place clean. Otherwise, do as you like.” Josecito was fourteen months old, and he was into everything.

“Sá­, Seá±ora. I’ll expect you back within the week.  ¿And if there’s a problem?”

“Here’s the phone number for Finca Los Ocotes, but if it’s something urgent, call Las Rosas first, then call me. Enjoy yourself, Pansy.” She left in her beat-up old Nissan.

As if she could enjoy herself, Pansy thought. “I’m stuck with the baby. I’m seven months pregnant. My back hurts. I can’t leave the house, and I can’t even read.  ¡What a vacation!”

Susana enjoyed herself, however. After a short drive, southeast to Comayagua and then back north up the valley to La Libertad, she found herself driving up a rutted dirt road to the finca. The road was bad, but better than the Las Rosas track. Finca Los Ocotes was a beautiful place. It wasn’t as large as Las Rosas, but it reminded her of her old home. At a lower elevation, it was a little warmer and drier.

“Querida,  ¿how are you?” Felipe greeted her. “ ¿Did you have a good trip? I’m sorry about that road.”

“Corazá³n, I’m fine, and that road’s no problem. I’m accustomed to worse.”

He helped her from the car, kissed her hand, and offered her a cold drink. “It’s a lot like Las Rosas here. We’re isolated, but the finca is nearly self-sufficient. If we could only make our own gasoline and diesel fuel, we’d be all set.  ¿Would you like a tour of the place?”

She laughed. “Felipe, it’s almost 5. I’ve been driving all day. Let’s go in, and I’ll have that cold drink. Tomorrow you can show off your pride and joy.”

“You’re right as usual, Suzi carita. Very well, let’s get that drink.”

Later they sat on a shaded patio, sipping daiquiris and waiting for dinner to be prepared. Her suitor asked, “Your infant son, Josecito– ¿how’s he doing? By now you must be having a fit keeping track of him. I’d guess he’s crawling everywhere.  ¿Is one of the women at Las Rosas keeping him for you?”

“He’s doing very well. And yes, he’s crawling. But he’s no trouble–or not to me, anyhow. Father sent me a maid to watch over him. She keeps track of him, and she also works around the house. Cooks, cleans, sews. She’s a big help.”

“ ¿But is she dependable? It’s so hard to find good help.”

“I think so. She owes me a big debt. She’ll stay until January anyway, and probably after that.”

“Suzi,  ¿can I hope that she’ll be staying with you here?  ¿Will you marry me? Please say yes.”

She smiled slightly, then broke down and laughed joyously. “Yes, Felipe dearest. I’ll marry you.”

He leaped from his seat and rushed to her. “ ¡Oh, my sweet Suzi!  ¡Thank you!  ¡I’ll make you so happy!” He kissed her passionately, then asked, “ ¿When? I want it as soon as possible, querida.”

Such a welcome change from George! “I agree. I don’t want to wait.  ¿Would October be all right?”

“ ¡Excellent! October it is.” He checked a calendar. “ ¿The first of October? That’s a Sunday.” She nodded. “ ¿And where?  ¿The church in Comayagua?”

“I think Father wants to have it in the cathedral in San Pedro.  ¿Is that all right?”

“Cará­sima, I’d marry in a stable if that’s what you wanted. It’s settled, then. October 4 in San Pedro.”

Susana stayed for three days. She was so happy–engagement to a handsome man whom she loved was truly Paradise. They held hands, embraced, kissed–but no more. Susana wouldn’t think of risking another unmarried pregnancy, or even a “premature” baby. They discussed arrangements: a nursery for Josecito, for Pansy’s coming child, and ultimately for their own family. Felipe was please that Susana had her own maid. “Josecito’s been a heavy burden for you, I know. You need the help. Los Ocotes has a staff, of course, but it’s right that you should have your own maid.  ¿She’s pretty, I hope?” he added with a grin. “Naturally,” she responded, “But more important, she’s well trained. She’s a wonderful girl.” She had no intention of telling him just how wonderful. “But I expect you to keep your hands off. I’ll be quite enough woman for you. As far as you’re concerned, she’ll be purely decorative.” More seriously, she reminded him that Pansy was pregnant. “She’ll have her own baby a month or so after the wedding, but I expect she’ll be able to care for both babies, and still handle her share of the household chores.”
 
 
September 17
-- Pansy’s belly had grown enormous. At her regular checkups Doctor CantẠtold her it would get bigger yet, but she didn’t see how it was possible. Her abdomen protruded as though she’d swallowed a watermelon. Eight weeks earlier, while she was looking for orchids and birds in the Lancetilla Valley, she had thought she was handicapped, but she had still been able to move about easily. Now she waddled. Her ankles were swollen, her back hurt, her breasts were sore again, and she had to pee all the time. She had trouble finding a comfortable position when she lay down (correction: there was no comfortable position). The baby kicked at her innards. Besides Doctor Cantáº, Herná¡ndez and Weiss examined her, and they found her progress fascinating. “Pansy, you must remember, you’re unique,” Herná¡ndez reminded her; “There’s no precedent for such a case. You’re making history.” She wasn’t nearly as fascinated as he was.

She continued to work for Seá±ora Herrera in spite of her handicap. As the Seá±ora told her, a campesina couldn’t afford to take time off, as long as she could possibly earn a little cash. “I’m afraid sick leave and pregnancy leave aren’t customary here, my dear. You’ll just have to keep working.” Her duties were lighter, of course, as her advancing pregnancy limited her physical ability. Mostly, she cared for Josecito. In spite of herself, she had become captivated by the child. After all, he was her son, and she found that a bond was developing between them. As when she had been held captive by José, she coped by thinking as little as possible, and performing her duties mechanically, if faithfully. The drawback to her survival mechanism was that, as Seá±ora Herrera had predicted, she was becoming habituated to life as a campesina maid. Her passive acceptance of her rá´le meant that her personality owed more and more to Pansy Baca, docile maid and young mother-to-be, and less and less to George Deon, rebellious chemist and egocentric man-about-town.
 
 
October 4
-- On the morning of Susana’s wedding, Pansy stayed home with Josecito. She helped with preparations, but only in a minor way; the Las Rosas staff did most of the work. After the nuptials, the happy pair were leaving for a two-week honeymoon in Florida. Pansy was relieved of her task of caring for Josecito; Conchita took him to Las Rosas. The doctors had decided that she should move into the clinic for her last month, so Pansy left immediately as well. Weiss met her and told her, “There’s no cause for alarm, Pansy. All indications are that your body is handling the pregnancy well. If it weren’t for your odd history, we’d leave you alone.” Later, Doctor CantẠexamined her. “Your daughter appears to be healthy, Pansy. There should be no difficulty in your last month. I can’t understand why Weiss and Herná¡ndez are involved.” Pansy laughed bitterly. “They never told you a thing,  ¿did they? Yes, they’ll take good care of me.” Doctor CantẠpointed out, “Neither did you, Pansy. I have the feeling that there’s a lot I don’t know. And you do. Pansy, you’re no more a campesina than I am In fact, I think you’re a norteamericana.  ¿What’s going on? Please, tell me.  ¿Is it the identity of the father that’s such a secret?”

That struck Pansy as hilarious. “I suppose you’re right.  ¿Would you believe me if I told you the baby is the daughter of a norteamericano who angered Don Pablo? He’s gone now, unfortunately.”

Isabel CantẠflushed and put down the sonogram she was examining. “Pansy, that doesn’t explain anything, whether it’s true or not. That’s nothing to do with you.  ¿Are you in some sort of trouble?  ¿With Don Pablo?”

“Doctor, the answer to both is yes. But you work for Don Pablo,  ¿true? You’re in no position to help.” After telling her that, Pansy thought, “ ¿Why not? I’m not forbidden to tell anyone.” She interrupted the angry doctor, who was retorting that she certainly couldn’t help if she didn’t know the problem: “You won’t believe me, Doctor, but if you’re interested, maybe you could confirm my story.  ¿Can you do any genetic testing here?  ¿Something simple, like checking chromosomes or running a genetic match?”

Doctor CantẠcompressed her lips. “Of course you’re just a simple maid. You picked that up from a telenovela, I suppose. Look, Pansy, I became curious long ago. You’ll have some difficulty in finding a story I won’t believe. And yes, I can arrange basic genetic tests. Doctor Weiss is well equipped. He’d be glad to run a test for me.”

“No he wouldn’t. Or he might not give you the true result. I asked,  ¿Can you run a test?”

More thoughtfully, the doctor asked, “ ¿Are you implying that Doctor Weiss might not give me the whole truth?”

“In a word, yes. Now, if you can test me, take a cell sample and check it. I suggest you take it from the inside of my cheek. You just did an amniocentesis, I believe. Either that, or you’re a sadist, sticking people with long needles for the hell of it. Check the cells carefully. See if there’s anything odd. You do that, and then I’ll tell you more. Don’t tell anyone. Maybe you can help me, if you’re willing.”

The doctor paused only briefly. “Very well, my dear. I have to wonder what I’m getting myself into, but I’ll risk it.” She took a cheek swab. “I have to send it out, so it’ll take a couple of days to get the results. I’ll let you know what I find.  ¿I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what I’m looking for?”

“Not yet, Doctor. Just check the genetic match.”

CantẒs face brightened. “ ¡Oh, I see!”

Pansy laughed. “I doubt it. Don’t prejudge, Doctor.”
 
 
October 6
-- Pansy’s clinic “vacation” was boring. She couldn’t read, as she wanted so badly to do, so she watched telenovelas and worked on needlepoint. She missed Josecito–against her will she had come to love her son–and she even missed Susana. Her mistress had obeyed Don Pablo’s order to treat Pansy well. Being treated as a lowly maid (no, being a lowly maid) was galling, but Pansy knew that Susana could’ve been nasty–and Susana was infinitely better than José had been. The worst indignity Pansy suffered was an occasional catty remark about Pansy’s fall from her former exalted status as Seá±or Cualquiera.

On Friday morning, two days after Pansy’s conversation with Isabel Cantáº, the doctor returned. She seemed exasperated. “I have to apologize, Pansy. Something went wrong with the cell sample, and I need another one. Just open your mouth. It’ll only take a moment.”

Pansy held up her hand. “Please, Doctor, wait a bit. First,  ¿what went wrong?”

“I’m not sure how, but somehow the sample got switched in the lab. The one I checked wasn’t yours.  ¡Now open up!”

Pansy shook her head. “Yes, I’ll give you another sample, but first tell me:  ¿how do you know it was switched? Maybe you did look at the right one.”

“Pansy, you’re intelligent and educated beyond your station–I don’t know how or where, but it’s clear. Still, give me some credit. Don’t try to tell me how to do my job.”

“You found a Y chromosome in the cheek sample. It came from a man. Therefore it’s not mine.  ¿Am I right?”

The doctor looked puzzled. “No, it was a normal XX–it came from you, and you’re a woman–but it didn’t match…” Her eyes widened. “ ¡That’s not possible!”

Pansy’s own shock was obvious. “ ¿It… it’s not?  ¡It has to be!”

CantẒs eyes narrowed again with suspicion. What was this girl trying to put over on her? “ ¿What are you telling me?  ¿What do you mean?”

“Don Pablo…  ¿How did he…?” She shook her head. “Doctor, two years ago I was… I was a man. I was…” She broke down sobbing.

Doctor CantẠwaited for her patient to gain control over herself. Pansy wasn’t trying to mislead her, she was sure, but something very strange was going on. “OK, Pansy, let’s start over. First, I checked the samples. Your uterine cells don’t match your cheek cells, genetically. I thought that meant that a sample had been switched, but now I’m guessing that they weren’t, and that you know something about what’s going on. You say you were a man. Please, enlighten me.”

Pansy shut her eyes. She had counted on the XY chromosome to support her story. Now the chromosomes named her a liar. What could she do? “Doctor, two… two years ago I was a… was a man.” She stopped to collect herself. “I thought… I was sure a genetic test would prove it. But now… Somehow they changed it, I don’t know how.”

“You mean, they changed you from XY to XX. Presumably, that was part of the process of changing you from a man to a woman.” She sighed; the story sounded insane so far–but there was the mismatch between the cheek and uterine cells. “ ¿Who is ‘they’, and why did they do it?”

“Don Pablo. And his doctors.  ¿Why?” Because they are crazy, she wanted to shout. Because they are evil! But she needed to persuade the doctor, and telling the bald truth seemed her only recourse. “As a punishment, and as an experiment. But now I can’t prove it. I though it was impossible to hide my original chromosomes–but somehow it was possible, and I lost my evidence.”

“Pansy, I’ve done a little reading outside my own narrow specialty, and I know that genetic engineering is possible. Very difficult and very expensive, but possible. And I already have evidence–genetic evidence–that something odd is going on here. Let me take another sample, and then we’ll discuss this further.”

“I understand, Doctor. I’d rather you didn’t do another amniocentesis, though. It’s not very comfortable.”

“No, I’ll take a skin sample. I’m sorry, Pansy; I know it’ll hurt a bit more, but I want an ideal sample.” Pansy winced as the doctor took the sample. CantẠthen continued: “You said you’re really a man.”

“Define your term.”

The doctor’s face flushed, but then she exhaled and nodded her head. “I grant your point. You claim you were a man. Genetically you seem to be female, and certainly you are a physiological female.”

Pansy glanced down at her swollen breasts and bulging abdomen. “Do tell.”

“Your uterine fluid contains two populations of cells: your own cells, from your uterus, plus your baby’s. That’s entirely normal. What’s peculiar is that your uterine cells are genetically quite different from those in the cheek sample I took. Both are female cells–but otherwise they don’t match. Seá±ora, your uterus isn’t yours.”

“Correct.”

“You were born male. You had a transsexual operation.” (And now you regret it, she thought. Too late!) “Weiss transplanted a uterus.”

“I guess so. And more: at least I had periods before I got pregnant. You are right, Doctor. Physiologically I’m female, or as female as they could make me.”

“ ¿Why?  ¿Why did you do this thing?”

“ ¿Why did I do this? I didn’t. I told you, this was done to me. As a punishment, I mean.”

“ ¿Who are you?”

“I’m Pansy-Ann Baca Gá³mez, Suzi Herrera’s maid. Wrong question, Doctor.” Pansy’s bitterness came through.

CantẠwore an exasperated expression. “Very well, Seá±ora.  ¿Who were you?”

“I don’t know–or at least I don’t know my former name. The memory was took from me, along with my balls. I was a norteamericano. This face isn’t my original either. And the soprano voice is new too. They stole some memories and mixed up others, so I can’t recover my old life. Doctor, they made me over, body and mind, so I’m trapped in the body of a campesina, with no way to return to my old life, or even prove it existed.  ¿Do you believe me? I told you that you wouldn’t.”

“For the moment I’ll assume you’re telling the truth, as a working hypothesis.  ¿What do you remember?”

“I’m not sure. You see, they can give me false memories. I don’t know which ones are real any more. If you still want to help me, that’s where I need it. I have to keep the body. Male or female, it’s the only one I have, and I can live with it. I have to live with it. But I want my identity back. Or at least I want to know my former identity; I told the truth when I said I’m Pansy Baca now.  ¿Remember I said the baby is the daughter of a norteamericano? That norteamericano is the mother. Me.”

Doctor CantẠwas stunned. The story was incredible. “ ¿Can anyone else verify what you’re telling me?”

“Yes, starting with you.  ¿Don’t you remember?  ¿The genetic tests? But yes, there are others. Herná¡ndez and Weiss, for example. But they’re part of the conspiracy. And some of Don Pablo Herrera’s staff. And Susana Herrera. All of them part of the conspiracy.” Pansy grinned, but her expression wasn’t at all cheerful. “Maybe I’m paranoid, Doctor. There’s this big conspiracy,  ¿see? They’re out to get me. They changed me to a woman,  ¿see? I’m really a man.” She sobered. “Tell me:  ¿is it credible?  ¿Would you believe me? Don Pablo told me I’d be laughed at if I tried to tell anyone.” She looked down, then went on. “There’s a woman who can confirm my story, if you can find her. She was a teacher in Siguatepeque. I was going to marry her. Her name is Petunia Baca, or it was; probably she married someone else by now. Don Pablo let her watch as I was changed. No, she doesn’t know who I am either; they took it from her too. But if you find her, she should be able to confirm what I said.” Unless they erased it from her.

The doctor cocked her head. “ ¿Why you?  ¿Why…? Oh, you told me–it’s a punishment.  ¿Would you mind telling me what you did?”

Pansy half laughed, half groaned. “Oh, I was a bastard, all right. It’s clear to me now, from my new point of view. I seduced Suzi Herrera. The child she has is mine. I’m the father– ¡if you can believe that!”

Leaning back in her chair, the doctor commented, “Pansy, I admit, they seem to have fit the imaginary punishment to the hypothetical crime.  ¿And your own baby?  ¿Who do you think is the father?”

Pansy laughed again. “Don Pablo is not one to take half measures. His son is the father. Don Pablo thought it would be poetic justice. His daughter carried my child, so now I carry his son’s child. I’m bearing his grandchild. Just like Susana, you see.  ¿What could be fairer?”

Doctor CantẠcouldn’t help laughing. Then she apologized: “I’m sorry, Seá±ora. You spoke of poetic justice, and I admit there is some justice in your predicament. Not much, though– ¡to do that to another person is evil, whatever the provocation!” Then she added, “But you’re wrong about the father. There’s an extremely close match between you–your cheek cells, not your uterine cells–and the baby. I think that, somehow, they arranged for you to father your own child.”

Pansy’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “So I can’t expect any help. Well, it was worth trying. Doctor, I can’t spend the rest of my life as a maid. Or I won’t. My punishment was supposed to last for two years, but Don Pablo told me I’ll stay a maid even after I’m free. He says I won’t have any other choice. Maybe he’s right, but I’ll fight against it. I have to fight it.”

“ ¿Two years?  ¿What’s this about two years?”

“I’m a prisoner for two years. He told me he’d turn me into a woman and train me as a maid, and he did it. After the two years is over, he says I’ll be free to go, to do whatever I want–except I won’t be able to do anything except work as a maid. The two years ends in three months. Tell me, Doctor:  ¿what do I do then?  ¿Can I return to my old life? I’m a woman now; I accept that. I have to, or kill myself. I’ll have a baby. OK, I can deal with that. Some would call it poetic justice, although I call it barbaric cruelty. But I have no credentials. I can’t prove anything. Without them–and without my literacy–I’m trapped as a maid, like the don wants. Or I can be a prostitute: that’s been suggested too. But I won’t accept it. I can’t accept it.”

Doctor CantẠremarked, “Hypothetically, you seem to be boxed in. Don Pablo thought this out well. Pansy, I’ll double-check your cells. Then I’ll decide what to do about you, if anything.” The punishment was monstrous, and irreversible, she thought.

“I don’t even know what you could do. And at best, I’ll still just be an unmarried woman with an infant daughter to care for. Doctor, I’m sorry I told you all this. It was pointless.”

“Cheer up. At worst, you have a guaranteed job and an excellent health plan. You have an excellent medical team–I’ve never seen doctors more solicitous of a patient’s health. If you’re telling the truth, they can’t afford to let anything happen to you. I’ll talk with you again next week. By that time I’ll have had a chance to check up on you.”

The doctors were indeed solicitous of her health. That afternoon they discussed her pregnancy. Herná¡ndez thought she should deliver by Caesarian section. “The project is a success so far, but it’d be foolish to risk everything on the assumption that her body will work perfectly. Too many things can go wrong. She’ll undoubtedly have another pregnancy. Then we can try for a natural delivery.”

Weiss had faith in his work, and argued for a natural delivery. “Her body seems fully adapted to its new anatomy and physiology. However, we’ll never know if the adaptation is complete unless we give her body a chance. Yes, there’s risk. There’s risk in every natural delivery. I think there’s less in this one than in most. I designed her pelvis for easy childbirth, and the fetus is in optimal position. There are no signs of problems. I grant we should monitor her condition. If problems arise, we can deal with them then. I say, be prepared to perform a Caesarian if it should become necessary, or even advisable on objective medical grounds; but if she continues to have no difficulties, then allow her own body to handle matters.”

Herná¡ndez suggested that Doctor CantẠbe consulted. Weiss agreed, in a way: “CantẠis being consulted. Officially she’s the obstetrician in charge of Pansy’s pregnancy. If she suggests that a C-section is advisable, then I’ll agree wholeheartedly. She’s our insurance; neither of us has any experience in this specialty. She’s competent: let her decide.”

“But she doesn’t have full knowledge of her patient. I think you’d agree, the fact that Pansy’s body is an artificial construct is medically relevant,  ¿no? I believe she should be told.”

“No. This particular construct shows every sign of behaving exactly like its natural counterpart. Doctor CantẒs ignorance is insurance that the decision isn’t prejudiced.”

The two finally agreed to allow a natural delivery, subject to Doctor CantẒs final (uninformed) decision.

A few blocks away, in a lounge at the Institute for the Mind, Doctors Ibarra and Ibá¡á±ez discussed one of the more interesting aspects of their joint. Ibarra commented that Pansy still had a noticeable accent. “It’s better than it was. Much better. But she’d never be mistaken for a campesina, even if she looks the part.”

“I’m afraid you’re right, Jesáºs. Our attempt didn’t fail, but it didn’t fully succeed either.” He puffed on his cigarette. “ ¿Do you have any suggestions? Maybe if we pool our knowledge, we can do better.” He smiled and told his colleague, “It’s of interest for a better reason than merely improving Pansy’s command of her ‘native’ language. If we could give a subject a really good command of a language, that ability would have a significant commercial value.”

“I know. And yes, I have some ideas.” He paused, then cocked his head. “Your previous work impaired Pansy’s English pronunciation, I think.  ¿Is that true?  ¿And is that a problem?”

“Yes, it’s true, but no, it’s no problem. Not now, anyway. For this project, it’s an advantage. It’d be a problem for a commercial application, but that’s a long way down the line. If we can establish an effective procedure, then maybe we can refine it later to cut down on side effects.”

“Good enough. Here’s my proposal…” He outlined a possible method for treating Pansy. Ibá¡á±ez listened, and when Ibarra was finished, he suggested modifications. Within an hour they had designed their experiment, and Doctor Ibá¡á±ez started making phone calls to set it up.
 
 
October 10
-- When Pansy awoke on Tuesday, she found herself in a hospital bed in what was clearly a laboratory. Banks of equipment lined the walls, and two technicians monitored the dials. Her head and limbs were firmly held; she couldn’t move. Clear plastic tubes ran into her left arm, and wires were attached to her head and parts of her body. A short gray-haired man in a lab coat sat by her bed. She started to protest, but he held up his hand. “I’m glad to see you’re awake, Pansy. You may not remember me. I’m Doctor Ibá¡á±ez, and you met me last April.”

She remembered him. She hated and feared him, as one of the doctors responsible for her present wretched condition. “Yes, I know you,” she told him shortly. “Let me out of here.”

“I’m sorry, my dear, but you’ll have to stay where you are. You may know that my goal is to make your thoughts and behavior match your appearance in every way possible–to see that you think and act like any normal campesina. I’ve been delighted with the way you’ve responded to our conditioning so far. We’re going to try something new on you today.”

“ ¡No!  ¡Please!  ¡José promised!  ¡He said you were finished, and I wouldn’t lose any more!”

A paternal smile settled on the doctor’s face. “You won’t lose anything. Or nothing important. In fact, we’re going to give you something. When you arrived here, you said you wanted to learn Spanish.”

“I already speak Spanish, better than I ever wanted. I don’t need any more.”

He ignored her protest. “Yes you do. You sound much better, but if we don’t help, you’ll always have an accent. We’ll fix that. You won’t speak high-class Spanish, of course. That wouldn’t be appropriate. You’ll sound just like the campesina you appear to be.” His enthusiasm was clear. “It’s a brand new procedure–strictly experimental now–but eventually we hope to be able to sell it commercially. You’re lucky. As a test subject, you’re getting it for free.” His cheerfulness faded and a note of regret entered his voice as he told her, “Unfortunately, the procedure is uncomfortable, and it’d make it hard to market. To deal with that, we’re borrowing Doctor Ibarra’s methods. When we finish, your memory of this episode’ll be gone. Including all the unpleasant parts. Only the results will remain. And you probably won’t even notice the difference. Unless you try to speak English–and maybe not even then. After all, your English is pretty bad now.”

“ ¡No!  ¡Nooo!” She tried to struggle, but she couldn’t move. In fact, her arm and leg muscles didn’t respond at all. She was paralyzed.

“You used to be a scientist, so I’ll explain what we’re doing. The procedure’s fairly time-consuming, and for a couple of days you’ll need to concentrate on your studies, with no distractions. To assist with that concentration, we’ll feed you intravenously. We’ll also administer drugs as needed. Some will help you remember, some will make you forget.”

She tried to shake her head, but it was pinned firmly. “ ¡No!  ¡Please!” she begged.

“Your conversation is repetitious, Seá±orita. I can reduce your anxiety.” He went to a console, turned a knob, then another, and pushed a button. “You’re getting the drugs now–including one to calm you down a bit and make you more cooperative. You’ll want to do whatever we tell you.” She had had it, or a similar drug, before, and she remembered the effects. Already she felt herself sliding into a passive and docile state. She repeated “No,” but her protest had no force behind it. Smiling, Ibá¡á±ez insisted, “ ¿You see? You don’t object to this after all. You came here hoping to improve your Spanish. You want to learn to speak Spanish like a native. Like a normal campesina.  ¿Don’t you? Tell me.”

It was one of the reasons she had come to Honduras. She did want to learn. “Yes, I want to learn to… to speak Spanish like… like a native. Like a campesina.” Something was wrong with that–but she couldn’t pin it down.

“ ¡Good! Now Don Pablo went to some trouble to find a tutor for you. Seá±or Ortiz teaches at the university in Tegucigalpa, and he’s an expert in phonetics.” A small man, slender and olive-skinned, appeared beside the doctor. “I’ll let him explain what you’ll have to learn.”

The newcomer told her, “I know how recently you learned your Spanish, Seá±orita. You’ve done quite well, but your speech retains more than a trace of your native English. What we want to do first–what you want to do–is replace English sounds with the Spanish equivalents. Right now your vowels are mostly diphthongized. For example, your O’s tend to glide into an ‘oo’ sound. We’ll try to change that so your simple vowels are pure. And your consonants–your B’s especially. They’re a dead giveaway. Say ‘Alberto Véliz’.” She obeyed, and he nodded. “Now listen to me.” He repeated the name, then pointed out, “My E and O are pure sounds, without the glide. The B and the V sound alike. It’s what’s called a labial fricative. You shouldn’t close the lips completely. It should sound a little like an English V. And the T should be made by putting the tip of the tongue at the base of the upper teeth, without aspirating it. That is, don’t give that little puff of air.” She didn’t understand his jargon, but she worked hard to copy him, and he coached her until she could repeat the word perfectly. Then he pronounced the phrase, “Los puertos está¡n abiertos.” He pointed out the right way to pronounce the P, and reviewed the B, T, E and O. Finally he discussed the S. “Your S is far too strong. You need to slur over it. Barely say it at all, so you’re almost saying ‘Lo puerto etá¡n abierto’. I’m exaggerating, but not much. Try it.”

He went on to other sounds and other words. She learned her lessons well. The mnemosine Ibarra had given her via the intravenous tube assisted her. Finally Seá±or Ortiz called Doctor Ibá¡á±ez back. “She’s doing well, Doctor. She just needs to practice, and to imitate native speakers.  ¿Have you arranged it?”

“Yes, she’ll get plenty of practice. Thank you for the helping us in this matter, Seá±or. You’ve been helpful.  ¿Can you come back in a couple of days, after she’s had a chance to assimilate the lessons?”

“Yes, Don Pablo told me your plans. I’ll be curious to see if your experiment works. It could revolutionize the teaching of languages.” They shook hands and the instructor left.

Ibá¡á±ez turned back to Pansy. “Now comes the hard part, Pansy. I’ll explain to you how the training works. It’s computerized. You’ll wear a set of headphones, and at first you’ll hear words and sentences spoken in peasant Spanish. You’ll imitate the speaker exactly. You know what to listen for, and how to imitate: use the sounds that Seá±or Ortiz taught you. Every time you make a mistake and use an English sound instead of Spanish, you’ll feel pain. The intensity of the pain will depend on how far you deviate from the standard. Each different kind of mistake will cause pain in a different part of your body. If you don’t respond, the pain will be worse, and throughout your whole body. The only way to avoid pain will be to respond correctly.  ¿Do you understand?”

“Yes. I understand.” At some deep level of her mind she was terrified.

“Good. I’ll leave you alone with the computer.” He put a set of headphones on her, and placed a microphone twenty centimeters from her mouth. Then he left the room, turning the light out as he closed the door.

She was in utter darkness. Suddenly she heard a woman’s voice. It said simply “Bueno”.

She parroted the word, but her B and O weren’t quite correct. Pain stabbed her temple for about a second. She cried out and tried to pull away, but her paralysis and her bonds kept her immobile, and the pain vanished quickly. The voice repeated. She did a little better, and the pains were less intense.

It took eleven repetitions of the word before the computer was satisfied. Then she heard “Buenos dá­as”. The D and S were difficult, and mistakes in the latter brought intense abdominal cramps. When she concentrated on the S, her O deteriorated, and the headache returned. It took twenty trials before the simple phrase was correct, and the computer moved on to the next lesson. Her universe narrowed to the voice in the darkness. She forgot about everything except satisfying her demanding critic. Nothing else mattered. Gradually the phrases became longer, and were spoken more rapidly. Her tutor’s speech became more slurred. Idiomatic expressions peculiar to Honduras were introduced. She lost track of time; it no longer existed. Only the voice, and the pains…

After six hours Ibarra and Ibá¡á±ez rejoined the technician who had remained to monitor Pansy’s ordeal. Ibá¡á±ez asked the technician, “ ¿Any problems, Paco?” He told them that she had done well, with no unforeseen difficulties. Ibá¡á±ez nodded, and the two doctors watched for a while. Ibarra pointed out that her pronunciation was much improved. “I can’t detect any trace of an accent now. After this short time, she sounds almost as if she’d been born here.”

“Yes indeed,” his colleague responded. “ ¿But will she retain her lesson?”

“I expect so. Her improvement’s been constant over the entire length of time. And for the last five hours, none of her lessons have gone into her long-term memory. Not her conscious memory, anyway. My drug completely blocked her hippocampus, and she’s in a never-ending present. She has no way of judging the passage of time.”

“I defer to your judgment, Jesáºs. It still seems odd that she keeps no long-term memory of her lessons, yet she still improves. I don’t deny it,” he admitted as Ibarra opened his mouth. “It’s plain that she’s learning. It just seems strange.”

Ibarra laughed and commented, “You of all people should know what’s going on. She may not remember–not consciously–but her subconscious is learning her lesson quickly and efficiently. It’s your own field. She’s undergoing classic Pavlovian conditioning, as she subconsciously learns to associate English phonemes with pain.”

“She must be getting tired.”

“Indeed. Indeed. But I repeat: she has no sense of time. And as she becomes exhausted, we’ll give her stimulants to keep her going.” Ibarra glanced at Pansy in the other room. “In fact, her exhaustion helps us. Her use of Spanish phonemes shouldn’t depend on her alertness. It has to be ingrained. Automatic.” He turned to his colleague and pointed out, “There are many ways that the mind stores information, Roberto. Conscious memory is the most obvious, but your ‘conditioning’ is equally a form of memory. I’ll make certain she won’t have any recollection of this procedure when she wakes up–but she’ll have learned her lessons thoroughly.”

By evening Pansy was repeating the phrases automatically. Only rarely was she punished, and then mildly, as her departures from her model were slight. At 7 o’clock the training took a different tack. A technician began to ask her questions, and she had to answer in her own words. The computer continued to monitor her responses, and departures from a Honduran peasant standard were treated as before. At first her pronunciation tended to revert slightly, but it took only a short time before her answers were indistinguishable from those of a native speaker–in particular, a campesina native to the Caribbean slope of Honduras. Shortly before midnight the chip in her brain was used to knock her out, and she was sedated.

Ibá¡á±ez liked the results. “I think our collaboration will prove profitable. The don will be pleased.”

Ibarra shook his head. “Don’t celebrate yet. We don’t know how well she’ll retain all this.” Then he smiled. “But I admit, the prognosis is favorable. During the next couple of days we’ll repeat the process. We’ll work on her pronunciation, but she’ll also pick up more local idioms and some lower-class usages. In particular, well suppress tuteo Spanish in favor of the voseo version. Doctor Ortiz will monitor her.”

“Pansy’s Spanish is already remarkably good. I didn’t think it was possible to acquire such a command of a foreign language after such a short time.”

“OrdinariIy not. The difficulty for an adult is that actions and objects and such–referents, the linguists call them–already have a tag attached, in the first language, and at best the new words and grammar of a new language have a second-order status. They don’t compete effectively against the originals. That’s why young children learn a language so easily–humans are wired for language, for attaching those linguistic tags, and there’s nothing blocking the new tag. With Pansy, we’ve been erasing the English, and the Spanish word or phrase becomes the primary tag, the one the linguistic area of the brain imprints automatically.” Ibarra covered his mouth as he yawned. “I’m afraid our process will never become popular as a way to learn a second language, though–the new language isn’t a ‘second language’ at all, but a replacement for the first, which is lost. Lost completely, if the process is to be maximally effective.”

Pulling on his cigarette, Ibá¡á±ez commented, “That hasn’t happened yet. Not with Pansy.”

Ibarra shook his head. “No, it hasn’t. Not yet. But when we’re done with this session, we’ll erase a lot more of it. Next month, after she has her baby, we’ll repeat the treatment two or three more times, to make sure it’s completely effective. We can’t get it all–not every word–but by the end of the year, when we’re finished, she’ll be a speaker of Spanish. Peasant Spanish. And only peasant Spanish.”
 
 
October 13
-- Pansy awakened unusually late on Friday morning. She was exhausted. Something had happened to her, she was sure, but she couldn’t tell what it might have been. She arose and lumbered to the door, still in her nightgown. An attendant asked if she was all right, and if she wanted breakfast.

“Yes, I’m OK. And yes, I’m hungry.  ¿But what happened? Someone… Someone done something to me, I think.” The attendant told her to wait, and he’d fetch someone who could answer her questions.

Her doctors showed up in five minutes. She recognized them and asked again, “ ¿Wha…what happened?  ¿What you done to me? You done something,  ¿didn’t you?”

Ibá¡á±ez answered her. “You’re right, Seá±orita, we did. We carried out an experiment while you slept. But don’t worry your pretty little head. It’s over, and we didn’t hurt you.”

She repeated, “ ¿What you done to me now?  ¿What did you steal from me?”

“Not much. We gave you something. You speak Spanish like a native now, Seá±orita.”

Ibarra joined in. “You’ve just had the most efficient language course ever devised.”

Pansy was confused. “But… but I spoke Spanish. I got it the last couple of years. You didn’t have to teach me nothing.”

Ibarra turned to his colleague. “She doesn’t even notice.  ¡But just listen to her!”

Ibá¡á±ez nodded and extended his hand for a ceremonial handshake. “ ¡Yes, we succeeded completely! At least for the moment. We still need to see if the effect is permanent.” He turned back to Pansy and explained, “Yes, you spoke Spanish, Seá±orita, but you still kept a heavy accent. We gave you a biography that accounted for that accent, but it was clear that you weren’t really a hondureá±a. Now your voice fits your appearance much better. It’s not a big change–we worked on your accent before this, and it was pretty good–but now it’s even better, with only a trace of English. You sound almost like a real Honduran girl, born and bred; and with time, even the trace of an accent should fade.”

She shook her head. “No. No, I sound the same like I did before. I don’t talk no different.”

Ibarra shrugged. “Whatever you say, Seá±orita.” He smiled, clearly delighted, and told her, “I think we’ve nearly completed Don Pablo’s charge to us, Pansy. In many ways you’re a better example of a traditional campesina than most of the women on the street here.”

She refused to give him the satisfaction of arguing with him, but excused herself and went to the clinic lunchroom for her breakfast. She thought about what he’d said, but finally decided it didn’t matter. If she spoke better Spanish, then it would only assist her in escaping later.
 
 
October 16
-- Isabel CantẠhad checked and double-checked. Pansy’s tale seemed true, or at least those parts susceptible of proof. Cheek and skin cells were female, but a nerve cell checked as male, with a Y chromosome. Uterine cells gave a negative maternity test. Surgical scars on her abdomen further corroborated her claim, as did barely-visible scars on her throat and face. Discreet inquiries had revealed that “Pansy Baca” had no past. She had heard rumors of research at the Institute for the Mind that were consistent with Pansy’s memory problems. What to do? From one point of view–Don Pablo’s of course–Susana Herrera’s unnamed seducer had suffered a well-earned punishment. “Sauce for the goose” and all that; or put another way, the gander had been goosed. On the other hand, Susana had recovered, and by all accounts she was a willful girl who probably hadn’t required much seduction. The penalty was horrible and permanent: not just a forced change of sex (she considered that almost appropriate, if harsh), but the loss of identity. Not simply her name and nationality, the doctor thought; that was a necessary result of the physical changes. It was the loss of her personality, of her past, of her education and skills.

She decided to talk with Pansy that afternoon. A routine checkup was scheduled, and Weiss and Herná¡ndez wouldn’t be there.

Pansy wasn’t in her room when CantẠarrived, but she waddled in after a few minutes. Catching sight of the doctor, she complained, “Doctor, I feel miserable. My back aches; I ain’t sleeping good; my bladder leaks; and I can’t hardly walk. And the baby keeps kicking me.”

The obstetrician laughed heartlessly. “Problems you never expected to face. I’m sure Susana Herrera had the same difficulties. Yes, I checked your story as much as I could, and I believe you. Welcome to the world of women, Seá±or. Now, let me check you out. Come with me; you know the routine.”

Pansy received the usual tests. The pregnancy was still normal, she was told. The baby, and belly, were a little large, even for the ninth month, but not outside the norm. The baby was well positioned for delivery, and had descended on schedule. The pelvic opening seemed to be adequate, thanks to Weiss.

“OK, Pansy, you can dress now. Everything’s in order. Let’s go back to your room and talk. We have a fair bit to discuss.” Pansy obediently climbed into her undies, pulled on her pink maternity gown, and followed the doctor.

In the room, Pansy lumbered to her bed and climbed in, sighing gratefully as she got off her feet. “Doctor, I’ll be so glad when this is over. I ain’t never going to go through it again.”

CantẠraised her eyebrows. “You may change your mind. Many women have more than one child.”

“Not me. I didn’t choose to have this one.  ¡Never again!”

“We’ll see, won’t we. But anyhow, I’ll tell you that, at least so far, there are no problems. Now I’ll tell you about the delivery. You may be less familiar with these matters than most women.”

“If you trying to hint that I’m ignorant, Doctor, you are right. Go on, tell me.”

“I think we’ll try for a natural delivery. You’re strong, you’re healthy, and everything’s normal. I’ll treat you exactly as I would any other pregnant woman.”

“If I’m normal, I don’t know what would be considered odd.”

Doctor CantẠsmiled slightly. “You have a point. Still, your unusual history aside, your pregnancy is normal. My congratulations to Doctor Weiss and his staff. They may be completely without medical ethics, but they did an incredible job on your body. Your pelvis must’ve been entirely rebuilt. Your pelvic bones are actually wider than those of most women, and I think you’ll probably give birth more easily than most. However, your education as a girl was sadly lacking, and it’s plain I need to let you know what’s going to happen to you. Having a baby isn’t much fun, I’m afraid.”

Pansy sighed. “I heard something like that. Go on.”

“In a week or two, labor should begin. You’ll feel cramping pains in your belly. They’ll be far apart at first, and not too bad. That’ll be your uterine muscles pushing your baby out. With any luck we’ll have plenty of time to prepare for her arrival.”

“ ¿Then what?”

“Then we give you a light anesthetic to blunt the pain. Labor hurts. It hurts a lot, I’m afraid. We’ll spare you the worst, but we want you awake.”

“ ¿Why?”

“You have to help. You bear down with your belly muscles, to push the baby out. Don’t worry, we’ll be here to help you. And women have been doing this for millions of years with no help at all.”

“If I remember right, it was one of the biggest causes of death, too.  ¿And what are the statistics for natural-born men giving birth safely?”

“We won’t let anything happen to you. Today it’s comparatively safe.”

“ ¿Compared to what?  ¿Russian roulette?”

Annoyed, Doctor CantẠcommented, “I’ve never lost a mother. Maybe I should leave you without anesthetic so you can keep track better. You can watch, to see that I do everything right.”

Hastily Pansy assured her, “I trust you, Doctor. I ain’t going to give no trouble. I’ll take whatever anesthetic you got.”

“You’d better. Now, let’s discuss your identity problem. I’ve made some inquiries, and you seem to have told me the truth. I agree, your punishment was barbaric, and I’m willing to help, to some extent. That is, I’ll try to find out who you were.” She took out a notebook. “Tell me what you recall. Or think you recall.”

Pansy told her about Seá±or Cualquiera’s childhood in Oklamo, his love of orchids, his courses at Oklamo State. They discussed science, and Pansy discovered her losses in chemistry and math. Little was left, but it was enough to persuade the doctor that Pansy had received a technical education. Pansy cursed José and Doctor Ibarra thoroughly, explained that she had been robbed of more than she had known, and then told the doctor about her family. Briefly they spoke in English, of which Doctor CantẠhad a fair command.

“No espeak… espeak inglés a beeg time, Doctor,” Pansy said. Her accent was strong, and her speech hesitant. “For a… a beeg time now no m…meeted hombres what espeak inglés. Theenk es posible they played weeth mi head and taked some inglés. Es bad… badder now.” She frowned; the words came with difficulty. “Mis libros son todos espaá±oles ahora, even before taked away mis… mis…– ¿cá³mo se dice?–mis read and write. No can do estas cosas ahora, like telled you.” She shook her head; she couldn’t find the English words.

Doctor CantẠnodded. “Yes, I am afraid that they played with your head, Pansy. Your English is badder… worse as mine now. Your Spanish is very better.” She paused in surprise. “In fact, your Spanish is surprisingly good.” If low-class, she thought. How had the doctors done this to Pansy, in just ten days? “But go on. Tell me more.”

Back in Spanish, Pansy told about summer vacations, friends and relatives, the job in Atlanta, and even the affair with Celia. “The don knows about Celia. I think he’s avenging her too.” She went on to Seá±or Cualquiera’s arrival in Honduras, the job in La Ceiba, his affair with Susana, their quarrel, his flight to Siguatepeque, the new affair with Petunia, and his capture and slow transformation to a woman.

At last Doctor CantẠstood up. “I understand why Don Pablo did this to you. I don’t approve–it’s horrible, and far beyond any reasonable punishment–but I understand. I’ll still help, but only because I think there’s hope for you in your new life, and because there’s no chance that you’ll return to your old ways. As a man you were a disaster.”

“Thank you, Doctor. I told about Seá±or Cualquiera because you was going to find out anyway if you do any investigation; and if you don’t, there ain’t no hope for me. But I ain’t very hopeful that you’ll succeed; Don Pablo done too thorough a job.”

The doctor looked Pansy up and down. A thorough job in all truth! Including the contents of Pansy’s head, it appeared. “Indeed. I’ll see you again soon, Pansy.”