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ARRIVING IN MILAN (Parts 1and 2 are written by Lady Charlotte) (Parts 3 to 8 are written by Monica Graz) PART 1 (by Lady Charlotte) At the airport standing in the passport queue, I see a cleaning woman. She is in marked contrast to the beautifully dressed travelers, surrounded by their expensive luggage, waiting to catch their flights to exotic destinations round the world. The cleaning woman looks weary. She wears a drab, ugly blue uniform dress covered by a matching apron. Dusters hang from her pockets. She pushes a trolley loaded with buckets, detergents and mops. The effort causes her to sweat. The uniform clings to her body. A name tag identifies her. I am too far away to read it. I guess that it will not be the name of an Italian, for the cleaner looks foreign. Her skin is dark brown, except for her hands which are red. Her knees too, I guess, beneath her skirt must be red. She looks as though she has spent long hours them, scrubbing floors. What would it be like, I wonder, to be such a woman, so drab amidst such style? I glance at the passport queue, ahead and behind me. Full of tourists, business people, Italian and English. For the Italians fashion is a religion and for the English a heresy, but everyone all the same, is marked by the clothes that they wear. Everyone looks rich and well off. Everyone except for the cleaner. I look back at her. She is gone. I feel a tightness in my stomach, a golden touch of shame. I show my passport. The officer waves me through. The bus drops me off in the centre of Milan. Of course, there had been no question of taking a taxi. The instructions had been perfectly specific. 'Bring no more money than you will need to pay for a bus.' Now alone, in a foreign city, I have nothing in my purse, nothing except for an address. I look at it, and then study a map. I find my way to the street on the address. I look down it. How expensive it appears! Expensive even by the standards of Milan! The people walking down it, how beautifully they are dressed! I think of the cleaning woman I had seen back at the airport. No Prada for her! How would she feel, to walk down such a street, her uniform hanging drably, streaked with dirt and sweat? In comparison to those around her, what would she feel herself to be? Maybe I will soon know. I have come to Milan, not as a shopper, but to work. I stand before the Signora. Already, I dare not think of her by her name. She is elegant, as only an Italian can be. She leans back in her chair. She inspects me. I feel a flush rise to my cheeks. "I will speak to you in English," she says, "but you must reply only in Italian." "Ma?" I stammer. "Ma, scusi Signora, non parlo italiano." The Signora dismissed my objection with a wave of her hand. "You will need only the most basic vocabulary. You are merely a servant after all." I flush even more. Now, for the first time, I understand what it is that I am committing to, what my future is to be. I feel a terrible constriction about my heart. And yet I feel a freedom too. I will work, and I will appear drab and tired and plain to all who see me and no one will value me for anything I have to say - and yet, and yet? "Julia!" I wake again from my musings. "Signora?" "Julia." She rolls the syllables around het tongue as though my name were a grape. "That is not a name for a servant, is it?" I swallow. So even my name is to be taken from me? "Non Signora." "Well, we will have to replace it." I wait. The Signora thinks. Then she shrugs with impatience. "In due course, we shall see." "Grazie Signora." Another long pause. Then the Signora smiles. It seems, there is almost pity in her eyes. "Julia?" "Signora?" "It is still not too late." "Troppo tardi Signora?" "You will not be my only maid here." I look up startled. I had never imagined there would be another servant. I cannot keep the look of resentment from my face. "I also have a servant from the Philippines, illiterate, a woman for whom this job is the greatest opportunity of her life. Unlike you, she has not been to college, she has never had a credit card, she knows nothing of the world. Yet still, if you remain here, she will be your superior. So as I said it is still not too late. What is to be?" A long silence. Then I speak. "Sono la vostra domestica Signora." The Signora nods with a smile. "Welcome then. Benvenuto. Benvenuto a casa mia, a la tua vita nuova." Julia translates in her head the easy Italian phrase, 'Welcome to my house and to your new life.' PART 2 (by Lady Charlotte) I find it hard to think. I am so tired. Numb too. My work numbs my brain. I am like a beast. A beast of burden. Once, I had a life in which I was bright and funny. I read books, bought nice clothes, knew about the world. Now I know nothing, save my duties and my chores. I'm tired, so tired. I would give anything to rest. But there are floors to be scrubbed, always floors. Is this what it's like to be a painter on the Forth Bridge, knowing that the job will never be finished? No sooner are the floors completed than they have to be started again. It seems as though I am never off all-fours. I heave the bucket to the top of the stairs. Ahead of me, down the passage, is a mirror. I see myself in it. I pause. The image stills look change. Is that me? The drudge? How plain she seems! Her hair is greasy, her skin streaked with sweat - for in Signora's house, the maids are allowed to shower no more than once a week. Her hands are red, her nails chipped - the hands of a working woman. She wears no makeup, no earrings, and no jewelry. Not even a watch. Time, to a servant, is an endless blur. I take a step closer to the image in the mirror. How ugly her clothes are! A shapeless blue uniform, buttoned all the way up the front, a matching apron, wooden clogs. All, and her bare arms too, are streaked with dirt. Out of the pockets used dusters hang. I cannot stay to inspect myself. I return to the bucket, sink down onto my knees. Oh, they hurt! I wet the coarse cloth; spray the cleaner on the floor, then start to scrub. My hands too hurt so badly! I am not allowed gloves. When I first came to the Signora's house, and introduced to Conchita, the Signora's other maid, she took my hand, and gazed at it in disbelief, it seemed so soft and white to her. "Non e la mano di una domestica", was her only comment. But now it is! I inch slowly down the passage, scrubbing as I go. Then I hear footsteps and a door opens. The Signora! I have to curtsey when she comes across me, and then press my face to the wall, but this time she motions me to stay on my knees. I gaze at her shoes. "Molly," she says. Even now, the use of this name makes me flush. To have had even my name stripped away from me! "Si Signora?" I answer. "We have guests tonight. There is shopping that needs to be done. Conchita has the list." "Si Signora," I glance up at her. She smiles. She knows that I hate to be seen on the streets. It matters nothing to her. The smile fades from her lips. She continues on her way. I return to my scrubbing of the floor. PART 3 (by Monica Graz) As I resumed my scrubbing the floor Signora came back and said rather condescendingly, "And Molly make sure you change to a clean uniform dress before you go shopping, you look too dirty and disheveled at the moment. I want my maids to be presentable to the outside world." "Si Signora," I answered dutifully not knowing enough Italian to say that I had no clean uniform dress left, my other two day dresses and several aprons were even dirtier and I was planning to do a serious laundry after the end of my working hours. I had to ask Conchita for one of her dresses, fortunately she was a big girl for a Filipina and we were about the same size. Signora departed once more as I wet the coarse rag in my bucket and continued the scrubbing feeling the pain on my sore knees. I had to rush now, more duties for tonight. Probably Conchita will know more about the coming guests. Conchita gave me one of her old uniform dresses which have seen better days but at least it was clean. It was a light blue front buttoned polycoton striped dress quite faded now and with chlorine stains around the hem. A white collar and white piping around the short sleeves and front pockets gave the unmistakable badge, a maid's dress! I hastily washed my face, hands and arms to remove the grime, changed to my fresh dress and I picked the list from Conchita's hands that being the cook in the house started to explain to me where to go and what to select. Signora had a number of exclusive food shops around this rich neighborhood of Milan where her domestic stuff, (Conchita and me presently) could go and get provisions without paying, since the bill was settled later electronically by Signora's private secretary, Signorina Bonifacio, a young woman in her early twenties, certainly younger than me and Conchita who treated us in a very arrogant way like lowly servants. I was about to go when Conchita stopped me rather abruptly, "You forgot something girl, you can't go out without your apron, you know how Signora gets angry if she notices that, then we are both in serious trouble." She gave me a small white half apron which I quickly tied around my slim waist making certain that the bow was symmetrical. Now I was ready to step to the outside world like what I really and truly had become during the past few weeks, a lowly domestic maidservant working in one of the rich mansions of this area. I started walking fast looking straight, trying to avoid eye contact with the elegant passers by, I felt so embarrassed walking in the street dressed as I was. On the other hand a peculiar peaceful sensation of being 'una serva', 'una domestica' as I was called all the time now was getting stronger and stronger in me. I liked more and more that feeling of submission to Signora or Signorina Bonifacio, even to Conchita who was the senior maid in the household. I was the last in the pecking order in Signora's household and that was so peculiarly exciting for me. I was startled by a male voice behind me, "Ciao bella! Ma que bella serva, e una uniforme molto elegante!" I abruptly turned and came face to face with a middle aged man who was looking admiringly at me. I instantly felt that he was looking at my dress and apron rather than me. Probably he was one of those cross dressers who liked to think themselves as maids; strolling through the net in the past I realized they were quite a few men out there who would like to dress as maids. I got angry with his boldness and I said in English rather ironically, "Probably you would like to wear my uniform and be a maid instead?" He clearly understood because he instantly blushed and became quite uncomfortable with me; I clearly struck a sensitive chord. He completely lost his bravado and turned and walked the other way murmuring in Italian, "Scusi Signorina." I smiled happily thinking that I was right, he was a cross dresser and he was fascinated by my uniform. I did the shopping fairly quickly, they knew me by now in the exclusive food shops, "La serva di Signora Matei, this is how I was known. Not even once I was asked my name, I simply was 'la serva'. Back in the house I carried the shopping through the service entrance. I found Conchita busy with the preparations in the kitchen. She said to me, "Signorina Bonicacio wants a cup of coffee in her office now girl,; hen come back to help me, we are running late, it is an early event, the guests will start coming at seven." "Si Conchita, subito," I said in my pigeon Italian, checking the kitchen clock, it was nearly 5.00 o'clock. I prepared a double cappuccino in the special coffee machine; put it in a tray together with all my shopping receipts, checked my appearance and rushed to Signorina Bonifacio's office next to Signora's studio. I always felt a bit uneasy when I visited Signorina, she was very unpredictable and moody and she could be nasty at me for no reason at all. I arrived in front of her firmly closed door and knocked timidly, "Qui es?" she asked in her rather haughty voice. "Molly, la tua domestica, signorina," I answered in my uncertain Italian, "Entrare!" PART 4 (by Monica Graz) Signorina Bonifacio was absorbed in front of her laptop when I entered. Initially she ignored me completely but when I left the receipts next to the coffee in front of her desk she raised her eyes and looked at me a mixture of criticism and contempt in her expression. "You have been shopping then girl?" she said abruptly. Her English was quite good with a strong Italian accent of course and I was allowed to answer back to her in English, not like Signora who insisted that I address her only in Italian. Signorina Bonifacio, Daniela was her first name, was fully aware of my unusual predicament. She knew I had a PhD from a prestigious UK university in contemporary North American history with my topic being 'slavery in the US American South in 19th century' and yet I was employed in this prestigious Italian house as a lowly maid. She even joked with me when I first started working for Signora Matei that my PhD subject influenced me so strongly that I clearly identified myself with the poor slaves of that period and finally became one of them. And the funny think is that she was not far from the truth that usually is slightly more complicated. Her voice brought me back to reality, "I asked you something girl, are you day dreaming or something?" "Sorry Signorina," I answered humbly with a slight curtsey, "Yes, I have been shopping for tonight's event, Signora informed me earlier that guests are expected at 7.00 and Conchita gave me a list for shopping. I just brought you the receipts with your coffee Signorina." "Yes, I can see that," Daniela said looking at me more carefully now, "That dress is quite disreputable Molly, look at those stains at the hem. I know you spend quite a bit of time on your hands and knees scrubbing floors but you shouldn't go out like this. Signora Matei's serva, should look more presentable to the outside world girl!" I had to explain to her why I had to wear this particular dress, she mellowed a bit when she heard the whole story but she added ironically, "You seem to get Conchita's hand me downs now Molly, how very appropriate for someone who is at the bottom of the social ladder, even lower than the Filipino maid." She really knew how to tease and provoke me. I blushed and said meekly, "Certo Signorina," simply confirming what she just mentioned. Yes I was seriously down the social ladder now and that excited me in a sinister way. I couldn't stop though a parallel feeling of shame overtaking me at the same time. How I let myself go so low!? "You can go back to the kitchen now girl, I am sure Conchita needs you now." "Si Signorina," I said and with another slight curtsey I departed for the kitchen. I found there Signora talking to Conchita in rapid Italian. Conchita who was in Italy more than ten years now she knew enough Italian to understand our Mistress. And that was the aim of Signora, to bring my Italian to that level as well. She addressed me in English, "Ah Molly, just in person we need. I explained to Conchita how things are going to work tonight. About ten to twelve people are coming, for a standing reception. It will be champagne and small canap?s that Conchita prepares as we speak. You are going to do the serving, you know the drill, circulating with a tray and a smile." She stopped for a moment and turned to Conchita saying something in her fast Italian. I tried to understand but I missed most of it, except vestito nero, piccolo grembiule bianco, guanti bianci, which meant, black dress, small white apron, white gloves, clearly she was talking about my uniform for tonight. She turned to me again. "Conchita will lend you her formal black and white uniform, clearly in better shape than what you have on now, look at those stains in your dress." I tried to answer bur she stopped me with her hand, "Never mind that, we don't have much time, you help Concita, then at 6.30 go and have a quick shower, I don't want a smelly maid serving my guests. Then Conchita will give you her formal uniform. Put some cream in your hands, they look rough and red to me and then the white gloves; I don't want people to see your working hands, so we hide them. All right girl, Capici?" Blushing all over I curtseyed slightly and said in my bad Italian, "Si Signora, Io capito." 'Good girl," she said with a faint smile and departed for her quarters. She had to get ready herself. PART 5 (by Monica Graz) I was very conscious of my appearance as I was wondering around, a permanent smile glued to my face, a tray in my hand, offering to the guests champagne and the delicious little canap?s prepared by Conchita. For the first time in my life I was so publicly exposed as a maid in front of so many people. I was fully aware of my black uniform dress my little white apron and my tiny white cap pinned on my hair. I had very little make up on, just a touch of lipstick and some mascara. Signora was adamant about that; a maid shouldn't look like a tart. The cotton white gloves cleverly were hiding my rough working hands. They were all sorts of people there, from bankers to young but prominent artists, 'la cr?me de la cr?me' of Milanese society as Signora mentioned to us in the kitchen, without a trace of modesty in her voice. As I was wondering around I noticed that she was watching me like a hawk for a possible 'faux pas'. So far I was able to avoid the worst and the evening was developing in a jolly manner. All present seemed to enjoy it including Signorina Bonifacio who was madly flirting with a handsome young artist. She enjoyed teasing me as she was motioning me quite often to approach with my tray either for a glass of champagne or a canap?. She always was falsely polite with me with a slightly ironical "Grazie Molly", then adding in a lower voice, "It is much better girl serving at a party rather than scrubbing floors, don't you think?" And of course I only could answer with a smile and a polite, "Si Signorina, certo Signorina." It was past eight o'clock and people were still coming. As I was moving around I spotted with the corner of my eye a new arrival, a young elegant woman who didn't look Italian. Signora greeted her very warmly with her comfortable English. Following Signora's instructions I waited for a couple of minutes and then I started approaching her to offer a glass of champagne. And then I froze in my tracks and nearly dropped the tray. I recognized this person; we were in university together for many years and not the best of friends, there was always an animosity between us two for various reasons. And it came to me like a flash that she was recently appointed as a junior diplomat in the UK Consulate of Milan. Her name was Jennifer Connolly. I wasn't certain what to do. Back off and go to the kitchen or face her? Of course I couldn't back off, Signora would be furious with me, so I approached her hoping that she wouldn't recognize me acting like most people do in receptions, simply ignore the domestic staff and continue socializing with the other guests. But alas, not such luck! She looked shrewdly at me as she was picking her glass, "Julia, is that you? What on earth are you doing here dressed like this, are you in some sort of undercover mission?" I had to think fast now. "I am employed in this house Jennifer, I am doing a project on conditions of employment for domestic staff in Italy, I'll have the chance to explain more sometime later." At this moment Signora approached us fast a look of curiosity in her eyes. "Is everything all right Signorina Connolly?" She said looking at her in a concerned look, then turning to me added, "Molly you should know better than that; you know it's not your place to chat up my guests." I deeply blushed and said in a timid voice, "Scusi Signora." Jennifer assessed the situation very quickly and decided to keep our secret, "Everything is all right Signora Matei, I thought for a moment I knew your maid Molly but I am mistaken; is she English by the way? Her Italian has quite an accent." Signora turned to me first and said in an abrupt manner, "Move on girl, circulate, people are waiting to be served; and bring some of those canap?s to Signorina Conolly to taste. Hurry up then!" PART 6 (by Monica Graz) It was nearly four o'clock and I was about to collapse from sheer exhaustion. I was working nonstop since seven this morning. The list of chores compiled by Conchita was endless! It was Friday, two days after Signora's reception and the house was quite messy. The floors, mostly in the main areas, needed a good scrubbing and cleaning. Since yesterday as Signora announced to Conchita and I our duties in the house have been adjusted to a more defined mode. Conchita was elevated to the post of cook and ironer and I was given all the duties of a maid of all works, a general housemaid in other words. Conchita was going to be my supervisor and she would report directly to Signora. The pecking order in the house was even more defined now and I was definitely the last in it. I couldn't resist the temptation to look at myself in the hallway large mirror as I was doing the final mopping. I looked at the image of an overworked and exhausted domestic. My uniform dress was wet at its hem form my kneeling to wash all the difficult corners of the floor where the mop couldn't reach; Signora was very particular about that. My apron was also covered with wet spots from slaving earlier in front of the kitchen sink. Fortunately my hair looked tidy enough kept in position by a white head band I had to wear. I was feeling hot and sweaty and marks of my sweat were visible under my armpits. At this moment I heard the key in the front door and within seconds Signora Matei came in looking very elegant in her designer's clothes, probably bought in Via Napoleone the most expensive and fashionable street in Milan. I instantly turned to face her with the obligatory curtsey. "Why you flannel Molly in front of the mirror, don't you have work to do?" She looked at me more carefully now, an amused glimpse in her eyes, "Nothing much to look at anyway, just a disheveled looking maid, do you enjoy that look of yours girl?" She confused me, I didn't know how to answer especially in Italian, "Si Signora," I said hesitantly. She became inpatient now, as if she didn't have more time to lose, she looked at the clock, "At five o'clock Signorina Connolly from the UK Consulate is coming for tea, Conchita will serve but you stay around she might want to have a word with you. We are sitting in the little drawing room I hope you cleaned carefully there girl." "Si Signora," I said curtseying again as she departed for the kitchen no doubt to check the tea preparations. I picked my mop again. I couldn't stop thinking as I was doing the final mopping. Jennifer will be here in an hour and she will see me like this, a lowly disheveled looking servant, not even with the nice black and white uniform I had the other day. A tiny smile appeared in my face as I was thinking of that, because I finally had to accept that I didn't mind anymore who was going to see me in my new station in life. I took a decision on my own will and I would stick to it. Conchita's voice startled me, "Hurry up Molly, finish the mopping and check the guests' WC, make sure that fresh towels are available and all is sparkling, then come to the kitchen to help me with the tea preparations." I was getting so conditioned in answering to orders that I nearly said my usual 'Si Signora', then I realized that Conchita was still my fellow maid and simply said, "Yes Conchita, I am about to finish here, I'll check the WC and be with you in a minute." When I joined Conchita in the kitchen several minutes later she had already changed to a nice grey uniform dress and half white apron, clearly ready for receiving our guest and serve the tea. She looked neat in a less formal manner a total contrast to my disheveled look after a day's hard manual labor. I looked inquiringly at her; she understood what I was asking with my eyes and said, "No Molly, you can't change your uniform just yet, not until you finish the messy work you are doing. You still have to clean the windows in the main living areas. Now before you go back to that task just do a clean up in the kitchen. I better check the cake I am baking." Conchita was acting more and more like my employer and somehow I was getting a sinister satisfaction from it. A barely educated Filipino maid was becoming my immediate boss in Signora Matei's residence. My submissive genes were getting stronger by the day. It was a few minutes past five when I heard the main door bell as I was cleaning a huge window climbed in a short ladder. Jennifer Connolly had arrived. I knew that Conchita was going to answer the door so I continued my cleaning task. I heard Signora's voice as she was greeting in her accented English my old university colleague and roommate Jennifer Connolly. Then I heard Jennifer answering in her plum oxford accent. "Thank you Signora Matei for inviting me in your grand house, I am very happy to be able to meet with the prominent members of Milanese society." I was only meters away from them in common view, a simple servant cleaning the windows and totally ignored. I looked at my reflection in the now sparkling window, a mere drudge, my hair greasy by now, my skin streaked with sweat, my hands red, my nails chipped. A feeling of complete humiliation combined with a peculiarly strong excitement overtook me. The two ladies went to sit in a comfortable couch in the other side of the large living area and then I heard the little crystal bell chiming. I knew it was for Conchita. In seconds I heard Cochita's voice in her broken Italian, "Prego Signora," "You can serve the tea now Conchita," Signora said in English. "Si Signora, presto," Conchita answered with a little bob and rushed back to the kitchen. At this moment I couldn't resist anymore the temptation and I slightly turned to look at them. I instantly saw Jennifer's eyes being focused on me a smirk in her face. I felt that she was about to say something demeaning about me, I could feel it in the air. I was about to become the center of attention for those two ladies. Then as I started moving I heard her saying to Jennifer, "Yes, she is English and quite educated but she wants to work as a domestic and...," then I lost her voice. When I came back a few minutes later with the tray of canap?s Jennifer had a peculiar expression in her eyes, a mixture of contempt and curiosity, "So Molly maid your Mistress told me the whole story and how you decided to become a lowly domestic on your own will." She stopped to eat a small canap?. "Mm. That tastes good. By the way, Signora Matei invited me to tea the day after tomorrow so I can see you in action as the true domestic you became. I wouldn't miss that in a million years." The least I could say is that I was shocked and yet excited. My submissive genes were kicking and kicking hard. I looked at her red from embarrassment. As she was picking another small piece of food she said to me, "Julia dear or Molly or whatever you are called now, deep down I always knew you were a potential slave yourself. All that interest and compassion for the slaves when you were doing your thesis was somehow unhealthy, I could pick that much at the time." She stopped abruptly as she spotted someone she knew. She waved at him and then turning to face me added, "I certainly am looking forward to meet again Molly maid. Bye for now." "Bye Signorina," I said uncertainly nearly curtseying to her. For the first time since I exposed myself to this unusual situation I had to come face to face with my old milieu. PART 7 (by Monica Graz) I hurriedly turned back to my cleaning job, wiping the window glass with a special soft tissue to eliminate all marks when I heard Signora's authoritative voice, "Molly, come here at once, Signorina Connolly has some questions for you." "Subito Signora," I answered with a slightly raised voice as I started descending from my short ladder. I wiped my wet hands to my already badly stained apron and tried to straighten up my uniform dress but I knew I looked quite disheveled after all those hours of constant manual work. I quickly approached the two ladies sitting comfortably in the plush armchairs and I curtseyed as expected saying in my pigeon Italian, "Prego Signora." "You are allowed to speak in English with Miss Connolly and answer her questions truthfully and to the point girl," Signora said in her haughty manner. I curtsied again with another "Certo Signora." as I turned to face Jennifer blushing all over. Jennifer, a mocking smile in her face said, "Not exactly the elegant serving maid I met the other day Molly, don't you think? You look much more like an old fashioned skivvy now, like we stepped back in the 30s." I knew that I wouldn't be able to have a normal conversation with Jennifer in front of Signora. She would be crossed with me if I would start a proper conversation with my old university colleague, it wasn't my place anymore as a lowly domestic to converse frilly with my 'betters' as she would say. I simply said with a curtsey, "I am a housemaid Miss and my orders today were to clean thoroughly the living areas of the house plus the windows. I will be finishing soon in this area and then I'll be able to change to a fresh uniform for the rest of the day." I stopped for a moment and then added hastily, "Unless of course Conchita my fellow maid has some other chores for me." Signora smiled mischievously and said, "Very good Molly. I see you absorbed by now that Conchita is your superior in this house and you have to follow her orders and instructions to the letter." "Certainly Signora," I answered in English with a small curtsey that became a second nature to me by now. Jennifer looked at me peculiarly. She just realized the full pecking order in the house; I was even lower than the uneducated Filipino maid. She looked at me again, now a more serious look in her face. "Signora Matei explained to me everything Molly. She said that you applied for this job giving her you full very impressive CV. She said that you agreed to all her terms and conditions to become a low paid domestic servant with no extra benefits. And she just mentioned that you are now under the authority of the Filipino maid Conchita the one who just served tea to us." There was but one answer to what Jennifer just said, "All that you just said Miss is very correct. For reasons that are not fully clear even to me I have the strong tendency to serve and submit. Don't ask me why, it's something that is with me all my life and..." Signora interrupted me rather abruptly, "You don't have to expand Molly, you just explained it all in a few words. You are a 'masochista' at heart and if you believe in reincarnation you must have been a slave in a previous life. I was quite impressed when I heard from Miss Connolly that slaves in USA were your PhD topic. We put together all the puzzle pieces now." Then she turned to Jennifer and said in her polite urban manner, "I am sorry Miss Connolly that my maid was a bit out of place just now, she has a long way to go to forget her old bourgeois ways and start behaving like what she became, a mere maidservant. In fact I have a program in mind to accelerate her transition from lady to maid and Conchita is willing to assist me on that." Jennifer smiled sweetly and said, "Of course Signora Matei, I understand fully that Molly needs a rigorous training as a maid. It's not only the uniform that transforms someone to a servant, there are many small and subtle details that can make the difference and I am certain you must be quite an expert on that. But I have to add that the Molly I see here today in front of me is already miles away from the Julia I knew back in UK." "And it is in only the beginning dear Jennifer if I may call you that, I invite you to come back in a months time; then you will see a much humbler servant in front of you." "I'd love to see that Signora Matei," Jennifer answered quite happily as I was standing awkwardly in front of them playing slightly with the edge of my apron. "In fact Jennifer," Signora Matei added playfully, "I can demonstrate to you that Molly can be an object in this house in the same way that slaves were in the past. In the Roman Empire days our ancestors were calling a slave 'RES' in other words 'thing'." She abruptly turned to me and said in a commanding tone of voice, "Now Molly I want you to go and stand in the far corner of this room, you know the one, you have done it before." I turned all red when I heard that, she was about to completely demolish and humiliate me in front of Jennifer. I picked up Signora's voice again as she continued talking to me, "I want you to lift your apron and cover your head with it, it's long enough for that and then stand completely still and press your nose to the wall until I call you back. Do you understand me girl?" "Si Signora," I answered meekly curtseying at the same time. "Go on then don't look at me like an idiot." She added harshly I turned and walked fast towards the opposite wall. I lifted my apron and covered my face and head with it. A strong smell of chlorine and washing up liquid engulfed me. I put my feet together and pressed my nose to the wall firmly. My humiliation was complete. But strangely enough a feeling of peace and humility encircled me at the same time. For the next several minutes (how many I wondered?) I was an object in this house as Signora said. I heard at the distance Jennifer and Signora chatting amicably but I wasn't able to pick their conversation, too far for that. I thought that I should take this predicament as a form of meditation, though I had a strong sexual arousal at the same time. The idea of being an object or 'res' intrigued me probably as much as Signora. I closed my eyes and tried to focus on my extraordinary trip of the past few weeks. PART 8 (by Monica Graz) It was mid morning three weeks later and once more I was mopping the floor, this never ending repetitive job of a maidservant. I was as usually in a disheveled form wearing my cheap light blue chlorine stained poly cotton dress my equally stained apron and my rough looking clogs. I still wasn't allowed to use rubber gloves and my permanently red hands started developing small calluses. They were the hands of a manual domestic laborer by now. I stopped once more in front of the hallway mirror and looked at myself. I still couldn't believe how different I looked. A completely transformed person looked back at me; a Filipino maid looked back at me! I was a transformed person because under Signora's strict instructions I had a complete makeover. Her idea of turning me to a proper servant in all aspects was to make me resemble more to a South East Asian woman and completely separate me from my white European origins. My longish hair was dyed raven black, my eyes got a more oriental look with some sort of permanent makeup and my skin became several shades darker with the use of a special solution that wears out very slowly, something like a permanent tan. In the mean time I was not allowed to speak English any more. I had to communicate with anyone I came in contact in my poor Italian. As Signora said I needed a limited vocabulary to perform my duties as a servant, no need for me to participate in elaborate intellectual conversations. Though I tried to improve my Italian by studying it hard every night, being deprived from my native language was quite a blow. I did start feeling more like an immigrant domestic worker in an alien environment. Conchita who was heartily approving my transformation was very keen to teach me also Tagalog, her native Filipino dialect. That confused me even more. All of a sudden I was really and truly disoriented. Signora's plan was very clever, I was gradually losing all me reference points to my previous existence. I heard a door open and close upstairs, my trained ear realized that Signora was coming down for inspection. I rushed back to my bucket and mop and picked one of the rags. I went down on my hands and knees and started cleaning thoroughly the corners of the room and the skirting boards. I knew that Signora was getting a special thrill when I was down on my hands and knees, then the servant's humiliation was complete. I heard her foot steps passing near me and then she moved inside the main living area and sat in one of the plush couches. I was able to look at her with the corner of my eye though I never stopped my work. "Molly!" I heard her authoritative, unkind voice, "Come here girl, I want to talk to you." She said in Italian of course. "Si Signora, subito Signora," I answered and stood up fixing my dress and apron at the same time. I knew I looked like a poor skivvy but I also knew that she wanted me to look like that. Turning me to a proper servant in all aspects was a task she was taking very seriously. I approached her and curtseyed lowering my eyes at the same time. "How you do like you new look girl, are you feeling more your position in this house now?" she asked in a slow Italian so I would be able to understand her. "Si Signora," I answered in heavily accented Italian making an effort to find the right words. "Me very pleased Signora, my new look, Conchita like it also, she say she take me to Filipino friends, want meet me, Prego Signora." I said. I knew I sounded awful in my bad pigeon Italian but Signora seemed to love it. With a broad smile in her face she continued addressing me slowly like talking to a wayward child, "That is excellent news Molly, Conchita is a very clever woman and she knows how to take you down to the path of a servant. It will be good for you to mix with those Filipino maids; you can all exchange stories and experiences about being maids in Milan, how delightful." She clearly loved Conchita's idea so I decided to tell her that she was trying to teach me how to speak Tagalog. I curtseyed again and said, "Prego signora, can add something extra." "Certainly, speak up girl," she said still being totally amused by both my pigeon Italina and my story. "Conchita teach me to speak Filipino language. She call it Tagalog, she want me speak that when we meet Filipino friends." This time she clapped her hands from sheer delight. "Another excellent idea of Conchita, I must congratulate her but I think she is out now doing the shopping, I'll talk to her later." Then she turned to me a stern look in her face, "Listen girl, I want you to try hard to learn that Filipino dialect Talagog or what ever is called, even harder than learning Italian. After all Italian is your day to day work language and you need about a couple of hundred works to go by but in Filipino you can communicate with those women for more intimate subjects and you can learn to express your sentiments. Do you understand me girl?" I felt all red from embarrassment; my cheeks were burning though probably she couldn't see it since I had such a dark skin now. I gave a small curtsey; it was like second nature to me by now and said, "Certo Signora, io capito Signora," "Now then," she said in her stern voice once more, "I want you to go for half an hour in your usual spot, cover yourself with your apron and press your nose to the wall, you know the drill. I want you all that time you will be there to meditate and think of your new status in life, that of a lowly Filipino maid, a poor uneducated immigrant girl who came from that part of the world to find a better future in here." She stopped and looked at me slightly more gently now, "After all this is the reason you came initially in this house Molly, isn't it? To become really and truly a lowly domestic servant, after all this is the wish you expressed when we were in contact through the internet some months ago." She looked at me again and added, "As when you first arrived here I gave you the chance to back off and go, now I am giving you this chance once more. You can leave now and go back to the world you came from or you simply go to the corner and think about you bleak future as a lowly domestic servant. Your choice is completely yours. What is going to be girl?" I was overwhelmed with strange emotions when I heard Signora telling me this. Yes I was still able to reverse everything and go back to my Julia world or I could continue this dark voyage to the unknown at the mercy of a rather cruel and unpredictable Mistress. I was all flustered and emotional when I curtseyed to Signora and saying in my rough Italian "Io sono la vostra serva, la vostra schiava Signora!" I turned and went without another word to my corner spot lifting my apron to cover myself as instructed. END