-How beautiful you are! But let your back takes a rest a little, and this prankish thing is wearying for amusements and one must play with it,- he said, pinching Inga gently on the very middle of the right buttock. Now come on the log!
Inga obeied, came to the log, mounted on it, squatted down. It was their toilet. The abductor prepared some paper already. She had to ease herself before his eyes looking at him, without looking aside in the process. So he trained her to be sincere, to exceed all the bounds in frankness. She must uncover all parts of her body, all nooks of her soul before him which just is possible to open.
The gnats, feeling a gratuitous pray, flew together little by little. Two stung her already by their probosces into the haunch, several of them stung her into the back, one stung into the buttock, another one stung into the most vulnerable place, provoking an unbearable itch. Inga made an effort and evacuated finally.
-I've done all.
As usual, her warder came to her place with papers in his hand, without any disgust he wiped up her. Inga at all did not want to get used to it, and blushed with shame. He threw the paper on the bonfire site and had set fire to it. Obeying to a crazy custom, Inga walked to the river along the trodden path where nobody went, excepting both them. The malefactor followed her closely.
The river flowed parallel to a stream falling into it, with spring ice-cold water. This stream flowed along a bottom of a deep ravine and their tent was standing above. Even in the river the water was colder than in others neighbouring rivers, because these cold streams fell in the same river.
After going down off the high and steep bank covered by forest, Inga entered into the water higher than her knees. The abductor wearing always only a swimming trunks at such cases, came next, taking a soap, leaving the soap dish on the ground. Washing her some rest that was not wiped with paper, he has soaped his hand again and stuck his soaped middle finger into her narrow hole. Inga has twitched involuntarily. Certainly, it would be quite agreeable, if a thought about other people didn't make her blush. It didn't reach her reason, that such an action can inflame her passion strongly. She started to notice that her tormentor is excited in such moments, however this could be explained by approaching flogging, because the joy he flog her with, she has noticed since the first days. She was curious, is it the same sadism which she heard about from a distance? Or the sadism is some other thing? She considered herself as a competent girl from an upright family. She is cautious, wouldn't commit a disgrace or follies. Certainly, she was not a girl already, but she had enough of the cunning and the intelligence don't allow that after "this" anyone points at her with finger with a derisive, telling to others drunks, how was he with her, what does he with her together and et cetera.
As everyone around she was grown up without God, instead God there was the public opinion which for she could sacrifice anything. If there exist (Lord, absolve me) a cult of the public opinion, we should have the Saint Inga among others saints. But here, in the forest, communicating with this brute, her opinion about herself was defeated decisively, but a needed standard, what she must be, it was not determined for the present. The relax alarm for her life, the fear of pain, now all this was changed to the feeling of her own shame and littleness, which, it is possible, the feelings, that the "cocks" have in prison, that are the rape victims, who are raped recently. However, as distinct from these latter, she had a possibility to hide or to embellish many things, then the shaken public opinion of her after her strange disappearance, it would become balanced again. Partially this consoled her, only partially, because now she has to do double dealing. She was displeased, because this was unusual and as well as reprehensible.
-Have you forgotten?! To plunge seven times! The walls fell in through the number "7" in Jericho! - repeated he his habitual phrase.
Docilely Inga sank in the cold water seven times up to the neck. These seven blows of the cold drove her out of her wits almost as well as seven swats of a lash, but a completely different way. She heard about Jericho only that there was a "Jericho's trumpet", so one says about a stentorian voice - she didn't know about those events of the distant past anymore. She considered herself as a developed girl. Also she lived in Moscow, almost near the centre, but here this forest brute presented to her surprises of his erudition every day, which in comparison with she felt herself as an unskilled barbarian, and it was a single consoling that she is not worse than other people are.
After bathing she went higher, the abductor was next. Reaching their conventional place, she stopped, turned her face to him, dropping her eyes, she began to say with a trembling voice:
-Sir teacher, one must flog me more often and more painful for I don't get out of hand. Flog me ,please.- The last words she had pronounced almost in a whisper and was afraid of additional swats for this.
-I'm going to satisfy your request, my forest wench. You are going to get fifteen swats as always.
-What an attitude must I strike?
-Go down on all fours, head on the ground, hands back, interlace, don't disunite them! Don't fall on the side! Or I will renew the counting.
The malefactor had taken the birches wet in the forest puddle and played with them in the air. (On Wednesday and on Friday an electric wire operated) Inga was ready and thought: "I've better, he would fuck me, he is a wretched crazy!".
He passed over her perineum with a tip of the rod, passed along all the slit, up to her back, but didn't delay anymore. The twig had cleaved the air, a savoury whip... keeping silent... Second... Third...
-Ouch!- Inga squealed after forth one. Now these "Ouch!" alternated with constrained sobbing and became longer to end.
At the end of the thrashing, at his command she had stood erect, continued kneeling, thanked her teacher through tears, for doing good to her. Then she stood up and took a breath, with relief and joy: the punishment is finished now.
They went both to the tent. She helped her master to kindle the firewood, prepare the food, the tea. The daily morning rite is finished. Now it may rub themselves against gnats and feel free. Despite the fact that he could flog her again for any accidental inadvertence, these little punishments, though even these she couldn't almost stand without tears and yells, but they didn't provoke such a panic terror.
Only now she has paid attention at the sombre and severe beauty of the spruce and birch forest, which is crossed by ravines, by slopes and rises; some place non-typical for the Moscow area, and the sky was covered by crowns of trees for the most part, it was saturated by bright blueness as well as washed one, in contrast to the off-white sky near large towns. There was something whereof the heart would be filled with joy, but Inga may not allow herself this.
Nobody instructed her anything, excepting how to look attentively at the people to be the same like they are, try not to differ in nothing. The bookstores were overloaded with communist jabber and eulogies for Motherland, Party and Lenin. It was not possible to buy in normal even the most innocuous in terms of poliсy belletristic literature, but at least just a little intelligent one, free from the propaganda. It was an item in short supply which costed ten times more expensive covertly, than its real value was. And where from this poor girl could learn a valuable Carnegie's advice: "If the life has prepared a lemon for you - make lemonade". There was no trace of the Carnegies and others. Even nobody heard of them. The enigmatic abductor, making a show of being busy, watched the girl.
-Remember,- his voice had sounded. Inga had raised her eyes.- Remember! There is no an objective criterion of the correct attitude to life. This attitude rendering someone happy, only it is correct. That attitude to life rendering someone feeling himself unhappy - is not correct. Remember this, I'll ask it. You may not agree to it, but remember. ONLY A CORRECT ATTITUDE TO LIFE WILL RENDER YOU HAPPY!
-Is it you consider I can be happy here?
-In fact, you cannot nowhere be happy excepting here. Do you remember I said you that you had died long ago? That life you lived, there is not to be a happiness. Such a life is not better than death. Look at women who are a forty years old. Many of them still haven't known what an orgasm is. If you go their way, you will arrive in the same place like they have. In fact a woman forty years old can love and be loved one as in twenty. Already they've buried themselves, gave up as hopeless, they refused all the things by this trite excuse: "We need nothing" and even try to defy it.
-All the world lives like that.
-They don't live, but drink from a close-stool. It's better don't argue. It's better to test this, to test that, then early or late the truth itself will come to light.
Her warder became more talkative. This time he let himself go so that if someone appeared in the distance, he would guess tourists with a tape recorder listen to a Vysotsky's recital.
-Well, my dish. Let's come down to business. Take off your swimsuit and sit down on the heels. So sit during ten minutes, then it will be the asanas for the stretch.
Inga had performed all the exercises impeccably and it was unexpectedly even for him. To the end of them she lay down on her back, relaxed and fell asleep about two minutes.
In half an hour he had called her:
-Here's a problem, my girl. Take a pen, a notebook, but at first write what one must.
While she had to write seven times: "Be a diligent o girl, not to be flogged". Of course, Inga was lucky not always to be a diligent enough. The little punishments were following just after her blunders, now they provoked not fear, but some kind of a mental unacceptance like unpleasant medical treatments as a painful injection or a bathing of wounds and etc.
When the ritual phrase was completed, the abductor began to speak right away:
-All the attention here! We have a segment with a point in the middle. We call this point as "the center". We call this segment as a "one-dimensional sphere".
Inga looked up suddenly at him.
-Do you want to be sure whether am I crazy? At first, listen to the end, then solve, if you don't want to be flogged again, and only after this you will conclude. If I'm crazy, there wouldn't be a solution, but it is in my pocket, finished one, on a sheet. And you are to make a little discovery which was discovered long ago. Also, a volume number one of the one-dimensional sphere is equal 2R. Let's take a two-dimensional sphere - this is a circle. A volume number two of the two-dimensional sphere is equal... - he looked at Inga inquisitive.
-Pi R squared, the volume number two - this is the area, - answered Inga willingly drawing into the game and rejoicing at her own keen wits.
He wanted to answer with an irony: "And you are quick-witted, broad". But he had checked himself in time, understanding that it's better don't cloud her interest just waking in the mathematics.
-That's correct! And the volume number three, that is the usual volume of a sphere, it is equal 4/3 pi R cube. Also, broad, in the mathematics it is possible to work not only in the three dimensions, but in four one, in five one and more, for ever and ever. It is in the physical world we don't know dimensions more than three, we can draw only three perpendicular reciprocally directions, but in the mathematics one can check all the calculations of the multidimensional objects. All things fit, then the theory works. So, find a formula of the volume number four of the four-dimension sphere. I give you half an hour for this.
Inga had inclined above the note-book, took out a draft sheet was put in it, turned over a page don't see these words "...not to be flogged", and it is possible, it will happen so. She had plunged into the work. Fully half an hour she looked for a regularity among the three formulas were well-known since school, being worried as at the exam, but failed to find this regularity. She had noticed this strange man stood behind her and looked into her notebook, where the course of her thought was reflected in the form of formulas, during the feverish search. Inga had turned to him. Her tormentor stood keeping a sleek scrap of paper in his hand, which it was written on, in big letters and well: V=1/2π2R4.
-What did you learn in the institute? You've passed one year of the teaching, reached the differential equations getting more complex to the end of the year, however here is usual integration, not complex one. Look: the length of the segment is the integral sum of the points; the area of a circle is the integral sum of all the parallel chords, including the diameter; the volume of a sphere is the integral sum of all the circles are formed by crossing the sphere with parallel planes, including the big circle. And finally, my girl, the volume number four of the four-dimension sphere is the integral sum of the spheres. Then there are an usual calculating. Now you know what to do, however I'm going to tell you all the same.
He took from Inga the notebook, the pen, did all the needed calculations which led to the well-known result.
-What can you say?
-I need to be flogged, - and added in a cheerless voice.-Properly.
-I shall satisfy your request, forest broad.
-What position must I stand in?
-Take off your swimsuit, you will stand straight, keep your hands behind your head. You may be crying and jumping. You may not squat down or disjoint your hands. You may not stoop down very low. Bring me the twigs. I will flog you on your haunches in front; ten swats.
Inga had stripped to the skin again. She would like to cry in her vexation, because of her own inability during the solving of the problem. Somehow she didn't feel a fear. Instead this, it was an unpleasant feeling of a person who was duped.
Next chapter: http://la-flagellation.blogspot.ru/2012/11/the-enigmatic-abductor-chapter-3.html
Inga obeied, came to the log, mounted on it, squatted down. It was their toilet. The abductor prepared some paper already. She had to ease herself before his eyes looking at him, without looking aside in the process. So he trained her to be sincere, to exceed all the bounds in frankness. She must uncover all parts of her body, all nooks of her soul before him which just is possible to open.
The gnats, feeling a gratuitous pray, flew together little by little. Two stung her already by their probosces into the haunch, several of them stung her into the back, one stung into the buttock, another one stung into the most vulnerable place, provoking an unbearable itch. Inga made an effort and evacuated finally.
-I've done all.
As usual, her warder came to her place with papers in his hand, without any disgust he wiped up her. Inga at all did not want to get used to it, and blushed with shame. He threw the paper on the bonfire site and had set fire to it. Obeying to a crazy custom, Inga walked to the river along the trodden path where nobody went, excepting both them. The malefactor followed her closely.
The river flowed parallel to a stream falling into it, with spring ice-cold water. This stream flowed along a bottom of a deep ravine and their tent was standing above. Even in the river the water was colder than in others neighbouring rivers, because these cold streams fell in the same river.
After going down off the high and steep bank covered by forest, Inga entered into the water higher than her knees. The abductor wearing always only a swimming trunks at such cases, came next, taking a soap, leaving the soap dish on the ground. Washing her some rest that was not wiped with paper, he has soaped his hand again and stuck his soaped middle finger into her narrow hole. Inga has twitched involuntarily. Certainly, it would be quite agreeable, if a thought about other people didn't make her blush. It didn't reach her reason, that such an action can inflame her passion strongly. She started to notice that her tormentor is excited in such moments, however this could be explained by approaching flogging, because the joy he flog her with, she has noticed since the first days. She was curious, is it the same sadism which she heard about from a distance? Or the sadism is some other thing? She considered herself as a competent girl from an upright family. She is cautious, wouldn't commit a disgrace or follies. Certainly, she was not a girl already, but she had enough of the cunning and the intelligence don't allow that after "this" anyone points at her with finger with a derisive, telling to others drunks, how was he with her, what does he with her together and et cetera.
As everyone around she was grown up without God, instead God there was the public opinion which for she could sacrifice anything. If there exist (Lord, absolve me) a cult of the public opinion, we should have the Saint Inga among others saints. But here, in the forest, communicating with this brute, her opinion about herself was defeated decisively, but a needed standard, what she must be, it was not determined for the present. The relax alarm for her life, the fear of pain, now all this was changed to the feeling of her own shame and littleness, which, it is possible, the feelings, that the "cocks" have in prison, that are the rape victims, who are raped recently. However, as distinct from these latter, she had a possibility to hide or to embellish many things, then the shaken public opinion of her after her strange disappearance, it would become balanced again. Partially this consoled her, only partially, because now she has to do double dealing. She was displeased, because this was unusual and as well as reprehensible.
-Have you forgotten?! To plunge seven times! The walls fell in through the number "7" in Jericho! - repeated he his habitual phrase.
Docilely Inga sank in the cold water seven times up to the neck. These seven blows of the cold drove her out of her wits almost as well as seven swats of a lash, but a completely different way. She heard about Jericho only that there was a "Jericho's trumpet", so one says about a stentorian voice - she didn't know about those events of the distant past anymore. She considered herself as a developed girl. Also she lived in Moscow, almost near the centre, but here this forest brute presented to her surprises of his erudition every day, which in comparison with she felt herself as an unskilled barbarian, and it was a single consoling that she is not worse than other people are.
After bathing she went higher, the abductor was next. Reaching their conventional place, she stopped, turned her face to him, dropping her eyes, she began to say with a trembling voice:
-Sir teacher, one must flog me more often and more painful for I don't get out of hand. Flog me ,please.- The last words she had pronounced almost in a whisper and was afraid of additional swats for this.
-I'm going to satisfy your request, my forest wench. You are going to get fifteen swats as always.
-What an attitude must I strike?
-Go down on all fours, head on the ground, hands back, interlace, don't disunite them! Don't fall on the side! Or I will renew the counting.
The malefactor had taken the birches wet in the forest puddle and played with them in the air. (On Wednesday and on Friday an electric wire operated) Inga was ready and thought: "I've better, he would fuck me, he is a wretched crazy!".
He passed over her perineum with a tip of the rod, passed along all the slit, up to her back, but didn't delay anymore. The twig had cleaved the air, a savoury whip... keeping silent... Second... Third...
-Ouch!- Inga squealed after forth one. Now these "Ouch!" alternated with constrained sobbing and became longer to end.
At the end of the thrashing, at his command she had stood erect, continued kneeling, thanked her teacher through tears, for doing good to her. Then she stood up and took a breath, with relief and joy: the punishment is finished now.
They went both to the tent. She helped her master to kindle the firewood, prepare the food, the tea. The daily morning rite is finished. Now it may rub themselves against gnats and feel free. Despite the fact that he could flog her again for any accidental inadvertence, these little punishments, though even these she couldn't almost stand without tears and yells, but they didn't provoke such a panic terror.
Only now she has paid attention at the sombre and severe beauty of the spruce and birch forest, which is crossed by ravines, by slopes and rises; some place non-typical for the Moscow area, and the sky was covered by crowns of trees for the most part, it was saturated by bright blueness as well as washed one, in contrast to the off-white sky near large towns. There was something whereof the heart would be filled with joy, but Inga may not allow herself this.
Nobody instructed her anything, excepting how to look attentively at the people to be the same like they are, try not to differ in nothing. The bookstores were overloaded with communist jabber and eulogies for Motherland, Party and Lenin. It was not possible to buy in normal even the most innocuous in terms of poliсy belletristic literature, but at least just a little intelligent one, free from the propaganda. It was an item in short supply which costed ten times more expensive covertly, than its real value was. And where from this poor girl could learn a valuable Carnegie's advice: "If the life has prepared a lemon for you - make lemonade". There was no trace of the Carnegies and others. Even nobody heard of them. The enigmatic abductor, making a show of being busy, watched the girl.
-Remember,- his voice had sounded. Inga had raised her eyes.- Remember! There is no an objective criterion of the correct attitude to life. This attitude rendering someone happy, only it is correct. That attitude to life rendering someone feeling himself unhappy - is not correct. Remember this, I'll ask it. You may not agree to it, but remember. ONLY A CORRECT ATTITUDE TO LIFE WILL RENDER YOU HAPPY!
-Is it you consider I can be happy here?
-In fact, you cannot nowhere be happy excepting here. Do you remember I said you that you had died long ago? That life you lived, there is not to be a happiness. Such a life is not better than death. Look at women who are a forty years old. Many of them still haven't known what an orgasm is. If you go their way, you will arrive in the same place like they have. In fact a woman forty years old can love and be loved one as in twenty. Already they've buried themselves, gave up as hopeless, they refused all the things by this trite excuse: "We need nothing" and even try to defy it.
-All the world lives like that.
-They don't live, but drink from a close-stool. It's better don't argue. It's better to test this, to test that, then early or late the truth itself will come to light.
Her warder became more talkative. This time he let himself go so that if someone appeared in the distance, he would guess tourists with a tape recorder listen to a Vysotsky's recital.
-Well, my dish. Let's come down to business. Take off your swimsuit and sit down on the heels. So sit during ten minutes, then it will be the asanas for the stretch.
Inga had performed all the exercises impeccably and it was unexpectedly even for him. To the end of them she lay down on her back, relaxed and fell asleep about two minutes.
In half an hour he had called her:
-Here's a problem, my girl. Take a pen, a notebook, but at first write what one must.
While she had to write seven times: "Be a diligent o girl, not to be flogged". Of course, Inga was lucky not always to be a diligent enough. The little punishments were following just after her blunders, now they provoked not fear, but some kind of a mental unacceptance like unpleasant medical treatments as a painful injection or a bathing of wounds and etc.
When the ritual phrase was completed, the abductor began to speak right away:
-All the attention here! We have a segment with a point in the middle. We call this point as "the center". We call this segment as a "one-dimensional sphere".
Inga looked up suddenly at him.
-Do you want to be sure whether am I crazy? At first, listen to the end, then solve, if you don't want to be flogged again, and only after this you will conclude. If I'm crazy, there wouldn't be a solution, but it is in my pocket, finished one, on a sheet. And you are to make a little discovery which was discovered long ago. Also, a volume number one of the one-dimensional sphere is equal 2R. Let's take a two-dimensional sphere - this is a circle. A volume number two of the two-dimensional sphere is equal... - he looked at Inga inquisitive.
-Pi R squared, the volume number two - this is the area, - answered Inga willingly drawing into the game and rejoicing at her own keen wits.
He wanted to answer with an irony: "And you are quick-witted, broad". But he had checked himself in time, understanding that it's better don't cloud her interest just waking in the mathematics.
-That's correct! And the volume number three, that is the usual volume of a sphere, it is equal 4/3 pi R cube. Also, broad, in the mathematics it is possible to work not only in the three dimensions, but in four one, in five one and more, for ever and ever. It is in the physical world we don't know dimensions more than three, we can draw only three perpendicular reciprocally directions, but in the mathematics one can check all the calculations of the multidimensional objects. All things fit, then the theory works. So, find a formula of the volume number four of the four-dimension sphere. I give you half an hour for this.
Inga had inclined above the note-book, took out a draft sheet was put in it, turned over a page don't see these words "...not to be flogged", and it is possible, it will happen so. She had plunged into the work. Fully half an hour she looked for a regularity among the three formulas were well-known since school, being worried as at the exam, but failed to find this regularity. She had noticed this strange man stood behind her and looked into her notebook, where the course of her thought was reflected in the form of formulas, during the feverish search. Inga had turned to him. Her tormentor stood keeping a sleek scrap of paper in his hand, which it was written on, in big letters and well: V=1/2π2R4.
-What did you learn in the institute? You've passed one year of the teaching, reached the differential equations getting more complex to the end of the year, however here is usual integration, not complex one. Look: the length of the segment is the integral sum of the points; the area of a circle is the integral sum of all the parallel chords, including the diameter; the volume of a sphere is the integral sum of all the circles are formed by crossing the sphere with parallel planes, including the big circle. And finally, my girl, the volume number four of the four-dimension sphere is the integral sum of the spheres. Then there are an usual calculating. Now you know what to do, however I'm going to tell you all the same.
He took from Inga the notebook, the pen, did all the needed calculations which led to the well-known result.
-What can you say?
-I need to be flogged, - and added in a cheerless voice.-Properly.
-I shall satisfy your request, forest broad.
-What position must I stand in?
-Take off your swimsuit, you will stand straight, keep your hands behind your head. You may be crying and jumping. You may not squat down or disjoint your hands. You may not stoop down very low. Bring me the twigs. I will flog you on your haunches in front; ten swats.
Inga had stripped to the skin again. She would like to cry in her vexation, because of her own inability during the solving of the problem. Somehow she didn't feel a fear. Instead this, it was an unpleasant feeling of a person who was duped.
Next chapter: http://la-flagellation.blogspot.ru/2012/11/the-enigmatic-abductor-chapter-3.html
