Their nipples were hard and their breasts bounced softly as they swayed to the beat. All of these caresses were solitary: no-one touched anyone else as if waiting for some sign and all were looking towards you in your ‘unborn’ wooden state. The drums stopped. The largest raft, that of the Tribal Chief and his Magic Man, left the shore and was propelled majestically and with great ceremony towards the ship by four heavily muscled men with oiled torsos that shone with the reflected torchlight. The chief’s raft reached the Gilly Den and the Chief and Magic Man climbed up the rope ladder over the bows and took their place behind your inert and lifeless wooden body. The Magic Man raised his arms and looked up to the night sky as the drums started again with an insistent beat and he started to chant in a strange language known only to the successive generations of Magic Men. As he chanted he began to quiver and the exotic feathers in his head-dress shimmered in the light. Slowly, almost. That was our agreement, not the reality. I had worked for him for four years and had managed just two small raises. It was easier to get blood out of a rock than to pry money from Sam Gault.We all knew he could afford to pay us better. He had a huge house he had purchased for a song at a tax sale. His business sold more cars than anyone else in the area. I had heard through the grape vine that Sam had a big boat he liked to take up to the Finger Lakes from time to time. It just seemed that if a man could afford all that, he could pay his workers a living wage. Then there was Rachel Gault. When I started at my job, Rachel Brown was a secretary in the parts department. She was five or six years older than I and built like a brick shit house. Every brick was in place!She was single but would never date any of the guys at work. She made it clear that she was holding out for a man of substance, as she called it. She wanted a rich husband. Gradually, she caught Sam Gault’s attention. It.
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