Chapter 458: Special Treatment

“Yes, yes, I understand completely!” In that moment, Marina knew that she was the only person she could rely on.

“Now, do as I say,” Mendoza soothed her. “Don’t be afraid. They are here to serve you in your bath. These are the rules here.”

Marina forced herself to nod in obedience, suppressing her fear.

“I will wait for you outside the door,” Mendoza then said something that frightened her. “Please take off your clothes yourself. Believe me, your refusal will be of no use. It’s best to comply with what they do. It will make it easier for you.”

Marina took this as advice from someone who had been through it, but the implication of it let her know the humiliation she was about to suffer. With tears in her eyes, she nodded silently.

Mendoza disappeared behind the door. The four maids surrounded her. One of them threw a wicker basket at her feet, pointed at it, and said a few words. She guessed it meant she was to take off her clothes and put them in the basket. Obviously, if she was unwilling to take them off herself, they wouldn’t hesitate to strip her naked immediately.

Even among her own sex, Marina had never undressed in front of women. When they bathed in the convent, the “female students” would wear a large cotton robe, undress under it, and then enter the bath still wearing the robe. Everyone washed themselves under the robe. Except for their faces and necks, they never saw an inch of their own or anyone else’s flesh.

Apparently, the pirates had no intention of providing a robe. Although she had made up her mind to follow Miss Mendoza’s advice, she simply couldn’t bring herself to take off her clothes. Her luxurious dress had been put on with the help of a maid; she could never take it off by herself.

The four maids were clearly impatient. They immediately began to undress her, their movements rough and forceful. Marina struggled slightly, then stopped moving, letting them do as they pleased. In her heart, she silently prayed to the martyred saints she had read about, asking for the strength to endure all suffering.

When all her clothes had been removed, Marina noticed a mixture of surprise and contempt on the maids’ faces. She was then led to a wooden stool in the bathroom and made to sit down. One of the maids began to undo her hair. Like with her clothes, the pirate maids were unfamiliar with European hairstyles and inevitably resorted to brute force, pulling and tugging, which made Marina almost cry out in pain. It took a long time to completely undo her thick, long hair.

In an instant, a look of disgust appeared on the maids’ faces. One of them fetched a bucket of hot water and poured it over her head. Then came large bars of soap, and then they combed her hair with a sharp and hard object—obviously to remove head lice.

Hot water, soap, and the comb that pricked her scalp tormented her hair repeatedly. Marina endured it with the determination of a martyr.

Then they began to torment her body with hot water, soap, and a rough, elastic object. She was roughly pushed down onto the stool, even turned over and over, washed, and scrubbed.

Soapy water saturated with dirt flowed onto the white floor tiles like gray streams.

Finally, when she was almost about to faint from the heat and the rough bathing, the strange bath was over. The maids wiped her body with an incredibly soft fabric that instantly absorbed the moisture from her skin.

The maids carefully examined her body, as if appraising their own work. Finally, they were satisfied and draped a soft white fabric over her.

Then, the door opened, and Miss Mendoza walked in.

Her expression seemed very apologetic. She walked up to her and stopped, examining her carefully.

“Please take off the towel,” she said.

She first shied away, then hesitantly let the towel wrapped around her body fall. Her body was completely revealed. Naked, the body that had been strictly wrapped and guarded for more than a decade, which even she herself had never properly seen, was now fully exposed.

Now that the filth had been washed away and the layers of clothing were gone, this Spanish young lady’s figure did not look too good. She was not tall, and her figure was not athletic—clearly not a girl who exercised regularly. Obviously, girls in this time-space could not be expected to be aware of the importance of their figure.

Miss Mendoza walked over to a wooden cabinet against another wall and opened one. Inside hung a row of coats, looking very soft and luxurious. She pulled them out: they were robes.

She took one out and handed it over. Marina took it hesitantly—the fabric was soft and fine, seemingly made of the best cotton.

“Please put this on.”

Mendoza spent a few minutes teaching her how to wear a bra and underwear, then put a short-sleeved blue dress on her. This was the kind of clothing worn by high-ranking female workers among the naturalized citizens in the summer. The skirt reached just below the knees and was made of Songjiang cotton cloth. The style was extremely simple, with the only accessories being the buttons on the back and a belt that could adjust the waist and bust. She tied Marina’s thick, long hair with a ribbon.

“Your hair is beautiful,” Miss Mendoza complimented.

But Marina felt she was dressed like a slave—perhaps she was a slave now. The short sleeves were acceptable, but to expose her calves so brazenly was something even a prostitute wouldn’t do.

With her bare calves and feet, and her arms exposed, she felt a shiver, as if she were completely naked. She was enveloped in a great sense of depression and silently put on the straw shoes prepared for her.

“Come, come here,” Mendoza said gently, leading her out of this “Alibaba’s bathroom.”

Marina, whose will was on the verge of collapse, was taken to a “special room” in the quarantine camp, on the second floor of the small building where she had just bathed. This courtyard was prepared for prisoners and “guests” of special status, where they could enjoy the privilege of a private “purification.”

“This is your room,” Mendoza said. “You will stay here until further orders.”

The room was not large. The walls were painted white, and the floor was made of wood. The furniture was simple: a small bed, a cabinet, a round table, and four chairs. The room was spotless, without a single piece of clutter. Marina felt that this room was a bit like a small Spanish inn, only much brighter and cleaner.

The window was open, but outside was a cage with an iron screen, as if to remind her that this was not an inn, but a place where she was imprisoned, waiting for her fate to be decided.

“Can I have my luggage and clothes back?” she tried to ask, testing Mendoza’s bottom line. She felt that Mendoza was sympathetic to her, not a cold and distant person. Here, she was probably the only person she could interact with who showed kindness. She said, “You see, there is nothing here but sheets and a blanket.”

“Your luggage is the spoils of war of the Senate, but I think it should be possible to return some of your clothes,” Mendoza said politely. “I will definitely find a way.” She touched her shoulder to reassure her.

Every little thing now troubled her, and her thoughts were in a tangled mess. Miss Mendoza had her calm down in a chair. “Let me make you a cup of tea,” she said.

“What is tea?”

“A Chinese beverage, similar to, um… similar to maté.”

She knew of maté, but few people drank it in Mexico City. It came from the distant La Plata region, and only the Jesuit priests drank it.

Marina’s eyes scanned the room. The appearance of everything made her feel bewildered—she knew what they were, but they were different from anything of their kind she had ever seen.

In a way, these pieces of furniture were shockingly simple, with almost no decoration, no paintings, and no carvings, as if they were the product of the crudest carpenter simply piecing wood together. But as they stood there, they were so harmonious and beautiful. Every edge of the furniture was neat, and every angle was perfectly aligned. The surface of the wood was smooth and delicate, revealing a beautiful grain. The simplicity did not detract from their quality but rather added a special kind of beauty.

Mendoza brought her tea—in Chinese porcelain! On the fine porcelain, as white as snow, were beautiful blue flowers and plants. The faint yellow of the Chinese tea, seen through the thin porcelain, cast a soft glow.

A square, white sugar cube was placed on the saucer, so exquisite that it was difficult to use.

The tea was black tea made from fermented Fujian tea from Lingao, served with sugar cubes. This way of drinking tea was a consumption style that the trade department was currently trying hard to promote to the Europeans, in order to export two major commodities at the same time.

She carefully picked up the saucer and, following Mendoza’s instructions, put in a small sugar cube and stirred it gently with a teaspoon. The sweet tea calmed her heart. She noticed the cross pendant on Mendoza’s neck—this was another item from the old time-space, besides the bikini she was wearing…

“You are a follower of the Lord,” she said with joy.

“Yes,” Mendoza nodded.

“That’s wonderful!” Marina’s mood immediately improved. If she were a converted pagan, it would be too terrible. These people were more frightening and hateful than real pagans.

“Are you Spanish?”

“No, I am Venezuelan,” Mendoza said out of habit.

“Oh, you are not a ‘peninsular’.”

This word made Mendoza pause for a moment before she reacted. Right, in this time-space, there was no country called Venezuela, only the province of Venezuela in New Spain.

“That’s right, I am not a ‘peninsular’. I was born in Venezuela.” She hesitated, wondering if she should call herself a “Mestiza” or a “Creole.”

“Why are you here? What is this place?” Marina asked eagerly.