Sara Martins

Sara Martins, foreigner, experienced dancer much in demand for her mastery of the hot, sensual dance typical of exotic lands. Regarding the whereabouts of her relatives: a mystery. Her equally missing son, probably killed in the recent bombings, made Sara a free woman, without socio-affective ties beyond the tenuous and brief camaraderie she established with employers and colleagues. Healthy and the same height as Karen, the woman had enchanting physical attributes, yet… Anoka hesitated. Sara Martins was undoubtedly the best option available at the moment, but there were details that would probably cause strangeness in Karen. Anoka decided to take the risk. The compatibility might not be perfect, but the risk of rejection was low, and the doctor planned to accompany the entire process, helping Karen accept, adapt to, and love her new form. Not necessarily in that order. Transferring Karen Goltz into Sara Martins’ body would be like making a fallen angel reincarnate in the glorious body of a goddess — that is, a fascinating and terrible experience.

***

Dr. Anoka’s friendliness reassured Sara. There was no danger at all. At the end of the experiment, Sara would have a new life and would be recognized as a legitimate citizen of Kassala, enjoying all the rights and prerogatives that any person born in the Republic normally possesses. Although cynical and deceptive in her choice of words, Anoka felt no shame whatsoever. Neither before, during, nor after the interview did she feel any remorse for extracting intimate details from Sara’s life while deceiving her about a less unstable and hostile future. All for science! Had she lied at any point? No! Sara would experience a new life from the moment she was transferred into the tetraplegic body: she would have a new birthday and would be officially registered as Karen Goltz, daughter of Peter and Jenny Goltz, born in one of the most renowned hospitals in Kassala. Sara would be a true daughter of the homeland and would finally be free from the threat of deportation. What could she possibly complain about? She would become younger, would be eighteen years old again! She would no longer have to worry about food or housing! Other people would provide for her sustenance, and so she would spend her days in a calm, pleasant environment, with plenty of time to meditate and do whatever she wanted — or almost. She wouldn’t be able to move, of course, but you can’t have everything in life!

***

The Karen case was delicate, and special procedures were adopted to better cushion the psychic shock and sensory turbulence caused in the hours immediately following immersion in the tank full of TAF. Dr. Anoka injected a muscle relaxant into Sara’s vein, a dose sufficient for a short nap lasting a few hours. The instructions were clear: Karen had to be spared the stress of “waking up” suddenly in the tank, wet, naked, and disoriented at seeing and feeling herself in a completely unfamiliar body. Two soldiers helped transport the unconscious body to a small room with white tiles decorated with standardized arabesques; the tiles covered the lower half of the wall, while the upper half was painted gray. The body was placed on a wine-colored divan, one of the few pieces of furniture in the room, which also contained a folding screen, table, chair, and rectangular mirror. Additionally, to alleviate the claustrophobic feeling, a false opening had been installed on one wall — an open-winged window with drawn curtains that led nowhere. A vertical lamp behind the fabric emitted a yellowish light, making the environment less oppressive with that simulation of a sunny morning filtering into the room.

***

Wrapped in a white tunic, a mix of bathrobe and hospital gown, the contrast between skin and fabric made her heart race. Black! She had a brief spasm, similar to when she dreamed she was in free fall and woke up panting in bed. Leaning her head forward, she examined in disbelief the magnificent smoothness of a dark thigh emerging from the lower cut of the synthetic fabric. It took her several seconds to process the information. However, she could not arrive at any coherent idea. In her field of vision, she could make out the wall, tiles, a mirror reflecting an indistinct part of the wall and tiles, and the soft extension that ended abruptly in a clear black volume — a set of shapes universally recognized as thigh, knee, legs, and, finally, feet. She gave up trying to understand and decided to gather strength to act. Yes, act! For months Karen had despaired at being able to move even a tiny little finger. The generalized impotence confirmed after each frustrating attempt had relegated her spirits to a permanently somber state, in which anticipated failure aborted even the faintest hypothetical aspiration toward movement on the part of her will.

She had grown unaccustomed to performing simple acts, that was all. Sitting, standing, stretching her limbs seemed as distant and irretrievable as recovering memories from the time when the world was mediated by a welcoming placenta.

Hesitant and disconnected at first, Karen’s movements gradually became firmer and more harmonious. She felt like when she was a child and insisted on inflating a balloon the wrong way, exhausting herself in the process and achieving only pitiful results or none at all. No matter how out of breath she became and how irritated her facial muscles were from the effort, the bladder remained deflated. What was the problem? She didn’t know how to blow!

But on this occasion, she had to blow hard until she managed to reanimate the body she saw before her, a kind of alien vehicle that rose in jolts, awkward and ungainly. When she finally achieved some control over her limbs, Karen sat on the divan, hunched over. She fixed her gaze on her bare feet. She raised her leg, trying to analyze the situation coldly, but already feeling a pang of euphoria, like the anticipation of a revelation.

The legs conveyed a sensation of solidity and beauty. Karen gathered courage and tried to stand. In precarious balance, she slowly approached the mirror, walking like a zombie toward the increasingly nuanced reflection of a black woman with partially damp curly hair that fell a little below shoulder length. Superb thighs and legs. Subtle muscles in the arms, enough to simulate delicacy without being hostage to violent men. The full, plump lips gave a sensual air to the regal lines of her face. She was no young girl, but far from old.

The unbuttoned white tunic barely covered her body. The fabric hinted at the placid roundness of her abdomen and the promise of her breasts. Karen pulled the fabric aside. To the touch, a breast more yielding to the effects of inescapable gravity and less resistant to an eager lover’s grasp. Karen’s adolescent breast had been firm and soft to the touch, like a small stone cushioned by moss; this one was firm like a ripe fruit about to turn, on the threshold between extreme sweetness and incipient sourness.

She let the white gown fall to her feet. The proportionality of that body pleased Karen. The width of the hips, the size of the bust, the thickness of the thighs, and the solid, well-sculpted shape of the legs — all corresponded harmoniously. She turned halfway and looked back. One foot firmly planted on the ground while the other rose concave, thrusting out the right buttock. She palpated the generous ass and lingered on the stretch marks, a beautiful interweaving of trembling lines, almost metallic in contrast with the dark skin. It was a kind of tattoo where the tears replaced the ink, forming an abstraction of fleeing roots. Karen couldn’t contain a little giggle as she thought: “This woman is a tigress... and this is where she hides her stripes.”

Two knocks on the door dispelled Karen’s contemplative state and made her pick up the tunic from the floor. She squatted and rose with such fluidity and grace that she surprised herself. The body, besides being attractive, seemed especially flexible.

“Karen, may I come in?” Dr. Anoka knocked twice on the wood, turned the lock, and opened the door. “You look great! How does it feel to have your mobility back?”

“Wonderful,” the voice came out trembling, involuntarily sensual. It was the first time Karen had spoken. Real. Undeniably real. She couldn’t hold back the tears. In fact, she hadn’t even noticed she was crying, such was her rapture.

“Like a rebirth.” Dr. Anoka sat in the room’s only chair, examining the papers she had brought with her. “Hey, don’t cry… Or rather, cry, feel free. You are a newborn and you have the right to cry. But I’m the midwife here and I have the duty to give you a few pats—” she smiled, indicating the divan “—to make sure everything is fine.”

The preliminary questions concerned physical well-being and could be summarized in a simple question: how was your awakening?

“I see. No pain or tingling sensation?”

“Not really, doctor. I think… I feel a bit limp. My limbs are a little heavy. My eyelids too. I mean, it’s like having come out of the shower after a whole day at the beach, under the sun, swimming, playing volleyball in the sand… It would be easy to fall asleep. Is that normal?”

“Yes, the liquid you were immersed in causes that feeling of physical languor. A pleasant tiredness. You also don’t need to worry about the drowsiness. It’s the effect of the drug I administered earlier and it will wear off within an hour.”

Drug? This body had been drugged? Karen’s curiosity went unanswered. It seemed more comfortable to daydream and let Dr. Anoka steer the conversation wherever she wished. She had full confidence that everything would be properly explained at the right time.

“I’ll summarize your current situation, Karen. You’ve already had the chance to look at yourself in that mirror, correct? Excellent. Please read this report. It contains personal data and a few biographical details about Sara Martins, the woman whose body you swapped with. She underwent a series of medical examinations — psychological, gynecological, and others. We detected no comorbidities or diseases, as you can check for yourself in the attached sheets. A healthy body, toned by years on stage. She was a professional dancer.”

“Wow. An artist!” Karen’s eyes shone dreamily. “I suspected as soon as I saw the reflection in the mirror. She looked so…”

“Exotic? Elegant? Sexy?” Dr. Anoka gave a mischievous little laugh. “You’re lucky, believe me. You might feel uncomfortable because of the disparities. You were white, now you’re black; you were eighteen, in the prime of youth, and now you’re a mature woman of forty-three. Disturbing, to say the least. But I want you to understand: among the available options, Sara Martins was the best choice. I studied your case thoroughly, probed your past life, your plans to finish university, have a career, build a family. I would be lying if I said your life will return to normal. The most important thing is not to bring normality back, but to make the future worthwhile. To be able to decide how to live your life from now on, Karen. You are not even obliged to assume Sara Martins’ identity. Of course, in a way, you are inevitably linked to the name, blood type, and other physical and genetic characteristics of Sara. On the other hand, she had lost contact with her relatives and there is no record of any of them living in this country. A lone immigrant. And illegally so until a few days ago. Are you following my reasoning? No family or marital ties! It is perfectly possible to start from zero. Do you wish to experience motherhood? You are still fertile. Do you wish to flirt and get involved with young men? You are attractive and have normal libido. Do you wish to explore the world, go traveling? You have vigor, vitality, and enviable physical conditioning.”

Karen did not respond immediately to Anoka’s exhortations. Each time the doctor made a dramatic pause expecting gestures of agreement or some kind of response, Karen seemed absorbed, acting like a restless student who is mortally bored with an organic chemistry lesson. She tapped her nails on the steel tabletop; slid a greedy tongue across her lips, becoming involuntarily obscene; scratched her scalp and then brought her fingers to her nostril, sniffing like a dog marking territory. Anoka noticed the agitation in her legs.

“Anxious, Karen? Bored?”

“What? No…” she fumbled as she noticed the tremor in her leg. “My God. I didn’t do it on purpose, doctor. The conversation is great, it’s just that… I have legs that respond—” the tremor in her leg gave way to a tremor in her voice “—I know it will sound ridiculous, childish, but I’m dying to run. Miles and miles, until exhaustion.”

The doctor smiled. Karen was waking up, a sign that the effect of the relaxant had passed. The euphoria stamped on her face gave her a slightly crazy air.

“Your mother brought some clothes. Behind this screen there’s a backpack with intimate items. Get dressed, make yourself comfortable.”

“Will they fit? This body and my old body are quite different.”

“Don’t exaggerate. You’ve gained curves, it’s true, your old clothes will be tight, but they’ll still do for now.”

“Can I see my mother? Now that I’m almost her age, I have questions.” Karen barely disguised the movement of her fingers toward her pubis. “Uh… things she must understand well.”

“We’ll go to your parents, but get dressed first, okay? I’ll come get you very soon.”

As she closed the door behind her, Anoka stopped, waiting a few seconds in silence, ear pressed to the wood. One, two, three dull thuds. Jumps. Karen was jumping. She had restrained herself as much as possible so as not to act like a madwoman in front of the doctor, but now, in regained solitude, she resumed her exploration.

“Of course, to her the body is a newly acquired toy. An alien spaceship with lots of buttons to press and test,” Anoka whispered to herself.