0 comments/ 8814 views/ 5 favorites Katyusha Babies By: cowboy109 The overland bus leaned into the mountainous turn, as if to give the passengers a better view at the steep mountain side. Desert dust, no plants, only a few large boulders pigmented the drab sight. Regardless, the class was cheery. The rare field trip let them see something other than a ruined city. Mountain peaks, drop offs, and large boulders were still a novel sight, despite their blandness. Never less, the trip itself was exciting enough. The eighteen and nineteen year olds were on their bonding voyage at the beginning of college. Salahaddin University had sent them to befriend the other freshman students. A tradition that was uniquely Kurdish. Muslims outside of Kurdistan ran universities with strict rules and isolation among the students, if those areas allowed education at all. The world had changed a lot in the recent years. Pekhat was the proud teacher sitting on the foldout seat next to the bus driver. Pekhat's hand clutched the microphone with great importance. His whole stature demanded importance. He wore a sports jacket with a hatched pattern. He wore glasses. He wore is clothes as neat, so that he stood out among everyone else dressed in overalls, dresses, robes, and clothes pieces wrapped around them. However, his triumphant persona came with a quick eye that always checked his back side. His teacher's brief case did not carry books or notepads. It carried a white robe with a head covering that he could quickly throw over his clothes to disappear as a regular person. Being a teacher these days did not come with death threats by Muslim activists. Though, the majority of Kurds supported the last remaining university. They were on their way to a lake high up in the Zagros Mountains. Pekhat promised the students that they would soon pass the tree line, where the dead desert would turn into a sparse forest of oak trees. He held up high a white paper with the drawn outline of an oak leaf. The driver held onto Pakhet's shoulder, while he vigorously rotated the steering wheel into the opposite direction. The Bus bowed again to the front and the outside of the turn. The bus was a plain operation with the colors faded. Broken or damaged parts of the bus were diligently removed, yet not replaced. There were no more part stores, only well meaning bus drivers. A window panel was missing in the middle. A seat had lost its upholstery. Another chair was missing entirely. And, so was the third gear. It was missing entirely. The college kids were the same drab rag tag troupe. The clothes were simple, often made by their parents or made by neighbors and sold on the black market. The cool and wild kids sat in the back. That's why Delal sat in the very first front row. The boisterous action of the cool kids always startled her. She was intrigued from a distance though. Delal was a little on the small side. The top of her beige dress had pockets with covers. The pockets were stitched in a neat way that would have reminded you of a British tropical explorer, if you'd know Britain. Britain didn't exist anymore. The heavy fabric had a neat side slit to make walking comfortable. Underneath the clothes, you'd expect a trim body with small, yet firm boobs. Her hair was long, black and neatly combed back into a pony tail. You could see the thick bundles of her hair clustering together. Her face was soft. She would beautiful and gently red lips and dark black eye lids. Her face was lightly brown. The black eyes tended to bat at anyone looking at her, while she was trying to understand whatever she was seeing. Next to Delal on the aisle side sat Abda. The first thing you noticed about Abda was that she wore pitch black clothes. Then, you noticed that her clothes was one large robe that started at the top of her head and covered everything down like a makeshift ghost wearing a bed sheet. After you get over your initial startling, you realize that she is wearing face mask of equally black clothes, yet thinner material, so that her breathing air can pass in and out. Somewhere in the depth of the black mountain were presumably equally black eyes carefully eying everything that happened in the outside world. "Is it permitted for me to talk with you," asked Delal respectfully. "Hoo! I am sorry. You startled me. I am still not used to being in Kurdistan. Back home in Iraq, we all remain in silence in public." "So, can we talk or does that get you into trouble." "As long as my dad doesn't see us talking, it is alright. My dad has a rough time to adjust to the permissive Kurdistan." "Is that why you still wear the strict Muslim clothes?" "Yes, back in Iraq, pretty much the whole rest of the world, we have to live by strict Sharia law. My mother is very glad that my father moved us out here. For three years, he could not find any work at all." "Is it really that bad outside of Kurdistan?" "Yes, after Islamic Nations took over the world, strict sharia law was established. Freedoms were taken. There is a giant television cemetery near Baghdad for all the stoned television sets. Intellectuals were persecuted or driven to live in the remote desert with goats. With all the Western countries shattered, plumbing, streets, employment, everything started falling apart." "Oh, that must have been so hard, you poor thing?" "We do not talk about private family matters." They silently surrendered to the nausea inducing motion of the bus and curious eyes not getting enough of seeing the new landscape. The film of perspiration from the hot air was touched by the cool caress of the 10,000 foot high mountain air. Depending on how the air blew out of the missing window, they either smelled the dusty fresh mountain air or the arm pits of the young bodies cooped up in a bus for hours. BACKFLASH: DELAL'S HOME LIFE Delal was a gentle girl. Her beige uni-color dress was neatly folded and tucked under her thighs. She was sitting on her knees on top of the white cotton rug with the bright red, blue, and green dots. The clean and soft white rug was the luxury in the bare single room hut. The sun crept through a little glassless window and powered the whole room with its high desert intensity. Shadows and bright spots painted like an old world artist on the white washed wall that had turned to a light gray over time. The dust floating in the air peacefully reflected the sunlight as glares. And, a few sun rays illuminated Delal's hair to show vivid brown hues in what usually seemed black hair. Delal caressed her little baby sister, who peacefully moved her lips in a suckling motion. The baby sister was packed into a tight bundle with a rag. Delal admired her sister's large eyes and voluptuous lips. Her mother was preparing rice and beans on the other side of the kitchen. The age hardened staples had to be nursed with much water and time to turn back into an edible stew. Delal's father entered the hut. Everyone looked at him. The baby woke up a little bit to stir its arms in an aimless fashion in the air. Delal's father had a deeply red head. He had been in a fight with his boss. His boss had insisted that there were three lanes on the central square. Her father had insisted that there was a fourth lane, but the lane markers had been washed off years ago. He worked in the city's department of transportation. His department managed whatever infrastructure had survived after the last dirt compacting machine had bitten the dust. Ever since the triumph of Islam over the world, everything had started deteriorating. Now, they only occasionally painted the streets to circle knee deep pot holes to at least give people a warning, before they fell in. The issue wasn't so much the argument with the boss. It was that he had become totally absorbed in the emotion of it. His jaw was still shaking and wobbled each time that he wanted to say something. His face had pockets of bright red like the outlines of continents on the plant, when viewed from outer space. His hand held onto her mother's upper arm with such intensity and yet little heft that everyone felt the inner emotional stir in the slight man with the mustache and the prim slacks and collar shirt. STORY CONTINUES Over on the other side of the first row, was Talti. The other kids called him "Nail Head." He was hot headed. And, when his head exploded in anger, he'd drive his rage into whatever was in front of him like a nail is driven into wood. His facial expressions were as simple and plain as his mind – big cheeks, big jaw, and steady eyes looking out. His body was large, yet his muscles had little definition. He wore simple pants, a button down shirt, and workman boots. Normally, he would have sat in the very last row. However, he had gotten into a fight earlier and the teacher had placed him into the front row. The other kids had called him "Lyssa." He didn't know what it meant. When he want on a rampage, the kids only loved harder at him. He did not know that Lyssa is the Ancient Greek goddess of fury and raging madness. Now Talti was sitting next to Klaus, the German immigrant who was dressed in Islamic cleric garb and was more pious than piety itself. Klaus wore a black rolled turban. His body was in a black robe with buttons running down the front. Beneath the robe, he was wearing black tights that showed through the slits in the robe that went from the heels to the hip. Klaus sat with an erect spine twirling his mustache and diligently moving his eyes across the lines of a Koran. He also had a neatly trimmed blond full beard. "Your holy act does not full me," blared Talti at Klaus. "Indeed, I am unworthy in the eyes of thee. Though, my love for the glimpse of hope to one day kiss his feet keeps me steadfast," replied Klaus. "You failed. A real religious man has to greet in the name of Allah before speaking of other matters." "My apologies for being uneducated and not born into Islam. Hau Salami und Ei Krum," replied Klaus. „What was that? You are supposed to say ‚As-Salaam Alaikum'" "My apologies for my primitive pronunciation of your exalted language." "So, you are only a half Muslim. You have to server all full Muslims." "That is true, my benevolent master. How can I be of your service?" "Bring me some water. I am too lazy to get up." Klaus stood up and walked to the center of the bus. The other college kids were in a deep daze looking out of the window or in deep conversation with each other. In the middle of the bus was Sadiman. He was a foot taller than everybody else. He sat on an red and white ice cooler. His face was chubby and ruddy. His eyes were round and opened wide to show more white. He wore a vest to show of the good prosperity of his family. Klaus politely asked for a cup of water. Sadiman smiled a big grin. Every time that his hot little hands got another silver coin for a cup of water, he grew an inch taller and his face glowed like a neon sign. That is, if the urban myths about the existence of neon signs in the past are true. Upon receiving the white painted tin cup with the rippling water surface, he got on his knees and bowed over the cup to pray. His forehead rested on the hard rubber surface of the bus. The rubber surface had raised lines for water to run off. Partial dusty foot marks covered the floor. All that congregated on his forehead. Behind his back, he could hear the guys laughing at him. "Oh, he is even blessing the water that he has to carry to Talti as a humiliation. That Klaus has no honor." The girls were silent, except for Meryem. She sighed deeply in empathy for Klaus. She got out of her seat and laid his hand onto Klaus' back, while Klaus recited the holy words. Sadiman whispered to Meryem: "I don't think the strict Muslims like women to touch them during prayer." Meryem's hand snatched back as if she had touched a hot stove. Her face looked at Klaus with sorrow. Underneath the cover of his clothes, Klaus had pulled out his penis. He spilled a little of the water and replaced it with urine. All done a minute later, he got up on to his knees. He raised his body erect with a soft smile as if nobody had looked down on him in the bus around him. With confident strides, he stepped back to Talti. "Talti, here is your water. I have paid extra to add the vitamin pack. That's why it has a yellow tint and my taste a bit dusty." Talti raised his eyes in acknowledgment. Then, he took a sip to his lips. He immediately coughed from the vile taste. However, he held in every drop. His family was short on fund and had never given him a vitamin pack. He was going to drink every last bit of it and hide from everyone else that he was not used to it. Klaus' finger followed the lines in the Koran. And, he silently began reciting the holy scripture with his thick German accent: "Du bist doch wirklich der groesste Dummkopf, den die Welt je gesehen hat." BACKFLASH: TALTI – FAMILY FEUD The kids in gray rags had called him "Lyssa." It sounded like a foreign and pretentious word to him. His face had grown blunter. It was as if his face had swollen up to take away the dimples, creases, and curves. Yet, he had remained silent. He had waited for them to throw the first punch. Something had held him back from charging. Seven, it was probably the number seven that had held him back, because there were seven of them and one of him. On the way home, his breath had been heavy. And, his mind had clouded into a world of its own. His mind shut out the dusty streets and ruins of the Middle Eastern city that he passed. He did not notice the many wilted trees, nor the last remaining live one. His mind was screaming propaganda. The impolite and rude bands are leading to the downfall of civilization. If we ever want to recover civilization, we have to clear out the bad influences. The family living across his family had long been marked as a dirty spot to be mopped up by his father, by his grand father, and all the uncles. He was going to restore the honor of his family within the hour that it would take him to get home and load his rifle. "Die you damn bastards." When he arrived in front of his home, he ran into the door without waiting for the door handle to depress. His home was a large barn that had held the farm equipment of his family. Now, half the rooms had been condemned, because the roof or the floor was at imminent risk of cratering. "Talti, are you mad again?" His mother yelled in a shrill voice at him from two rooms away. She could tell by the rough slam of the door what mood he was in. She had heard him open and close doors since he was a little boy. When he could barely stand on his own as a one year old boy, he had started reaching for the door handles. "The Omers have done it. They ruined the last of our honor." With three large steps in the main hall, he reached his room. The room was sparse: A straw bed with a sheet on top of it, a crate with his belongings, and a beautiful black rifle in the corner of the room. The black had been diligently polished each time he was mad. He counted the bullets into the magazine. He was a tall and buff nineteen year old. His body was only made larger by the simple, baggy clothes that he wore. His head was shaven bald to underline his resolve in life. His mother appeared in the door, a large, overweight, and childbirth battered woman. A long sheet of clothes had been wrapped around her body, arms, and covered her head hair. Both her arms were raised to the ceiling and she wailed into a mourning yell that roused everyone in the house. Soon, his father pushed the mother out of the door. The father was a man with a pronounced jaw line, a black and simple hair cut, and large hands and forearms from working every day. Talti froze for a second by the swift and deliberate movement of his father. The next second, he found himself lying on his straw bed. He recounted, what had happened to him: A smack to his cheek that had sent him across the room, his fathers unstoppable hand taking the rifle, and the door slamming close to shut out all his siblings from looking in with curious eyes. "Nail Head. Son, I don't call you Nail Head for nothing. You are rash, impulsive like a nail head driven into wood." "Lyssa is the Ancient Greek goddess of rage and fury. Don't you realize, how you make yourself the laughing stock of the street by reacting with rage and fury to the taunt. Your dumb action is bringing shame to the family, not their indignant rudeness." Talti's father sat down next to Talti and patted his thigh friendly. "I hate those rubble rousers as much as you do." Then, they all sat silently, Talti, his father, and his mother. Everyone was left to stir feverish thoughts of their own. STORY CONTINUES Meanwhile, the outside of glaring bleached-blue sky was interrupted by the dark shadows of oak trees passing the mountain road. The bus worked itself in and out of side canyons on its way up, up, up. The side of the road had no railing. Occasionally, blocks of crumbling mortar signaled man made fortifications under the road. Most of the time, though only a mound of dirt lined the road. The pavement was still continuous from the little use it received after cars had slowly stopped functioning over the years. However, the dirt had four dry baked mud lines from the two sets of tires for traffic in both directions during the rainy winter season. The air in their lungs grew noticeably thin. Ears popped from the lack of pressure. And, then they arrived on the high mountain plateau with the lake. The lake was a giant filled in dirt hole. The slopes were steep. All the water run off got trapped in the depression. There were no tries directly at the shores of the lake. The slopes were too steep. The green trees lined the lake slope a hundred yards above the water surface. Beneath the tree were steep compacted dirt slopes that crumbled piece by piece. The road curved around the lake slopes at the same level of the trees. The bus stopped at a turn that protruded into the lake. Regardless of the abysmal scenic value, the college kids were still awed by seeing their first mountain lake. The teacher divided them into men to the left and women to the right. On either side of the bus were deep side canyons, where the college kids would be able to bathe gender segregated as the Kurdish morale demanded. The young men swiftly threw off their clothes and kicked their shoes off. Split naked as Allah had made them and ignorant of Speedo commercials of the past, they ran down the slope. The slope crumbled under their feet. The ground frequently broke in a foot deep. The young men were undeterred by the precipiced slope. Their bodies were stark naked. They all had different hues of light brown to light gray. Some had radiant brown skin. Others had more olive colored light brown skin with little saturation. They were mostly lanky youth. Some junior bellies popped here and there. A lot of biceps and strong thighs stood out in the naked stampede. Their penises were flying up and down in front of them like a wild bird flapping around. Their scrotums were bouncing up and down like the wings of the birds. All of the penises were relaxed. Some of the penises were small inside of oversized skin pockets. Other penises are meaty handles with the classical silhouette of shaft and head. They arrived at the water surface. Their legs tore into the water with the white splashes rising high. And, then their firm naked butts immersed into the water. Sadiman jollily floated on his back with his face, belly, and toes sticking out of the water. His arms stirred in circles underneath him to keep him up. The raw strength Talti plowed through the water. Alternatingly his strong back muscles appeared beneath the surface and then his fully sized butt muscles. On the other side, the girls were a timid pack. They gingerly used a rope tied to the bus to lower themselves down the steep slope. The slid, rolled, and hemmed in between ginger steps. Finally, they all arrived down in the water. Morale law required them to keep their clothes on. They stood hip to chest high in the water. They splashed water onto each other and laughed. Katyusha Babies The dust got washed off their clothes. The water turned their clothes darker. The wet clothes pulled down and became clingy to their figures. However, even with wet clothes, the figures of their bodies were still covered under the multiple layers of thick fabric. They started gossiping. BACKFLASH: MERYEM AT THE DOCTOR The sun was blisteringly hot and bright like every summer day. The women and men sat on both sides of the outside stairs. They were covered in full length dresses and shirts that had ample space underneath for cool air to gather. At least the building threw shade onto the sullenly desperately waiting figures. One could only see hands and faces under hoods and turbans. There was no way of telling what diseases were hiding beneath the cover, except for an occasional cough or pain winze. The outside stairs to the second floor of the blocky, white Kurdish residential house were the waiting room for the doctor. Ever since the takeover of Muslim political movements, the social organization had crumbled. Large organizations had disappeared, like hospitals. Doctors had taken to set up practices in their houses. That was, if they weren't too intimidated to compete with prayer treatment and rites by local Imam's. Meryem was a quiet girl. Her face beneath the olive skin pigments was pale from chronic pain. She was pretty small, if you knew how much beneath the bulky dress and head cover was fluff. Her mother lovingly called her 'my little mermaid.' The mother held her hand to comfort her, yet did not dare a full hug anymore. Meryem was nineteen years old. Her back rested against the thin metal sticks of the hand rail. Her feet were pulled up to her butt on the raw untreated concrete. A middle aged man was opposite to her. The man fanned his face with a piece of paper. His other hand rested on the opening of a pot, where the plant in it had long ago withered and been removed. He wore brown sandals, the only colorful clothing in the whole throng of waiting patients. A woman with a large behind that was so large that the mass showed through the multiple layers of white fabric wrapped around her body stepped out of the door. Everyone ruffled their feet to create a bit more space for her to step down. Faces waiting became alive to see her angelic and relieved face passing them by. The door remained open for Meryem and her mother. The doctor's room had square vinyl tiles with black lines painted in between them. Square, smallish windows were in the center of the walls filling the room with bright light. The doctor in the white medical coat, waved Meryem to sit down on the patient chair. It was a small chair with a little padding and skinny wood pieces. There was no treatment table, only a commode filled with wraps and medicine single serving pouches. The doctor looked at Meryem. His head was shaven to the level of a thin salt and pepper fur. Deep wrinkles from age ran through the face of the trim man. The eyes were widened from taking in a lot of patient stories and attentively listening and observing the patients. A wooden spatula was ready in his hand to check the inside of a throat. "My daughter Meryem has peripheral neuropathy. She is in so much pain every day. And, she just started college. She needs to be able to study." "Ah, one of the last scientific souls in this city! Let's see, if we can help her." He pushed the dress up and over her knees. He felt her knee. Then, he tapped the knee to check for a reflex. He ran a pin wheel across the perfect youthful skin. He shrugged his shoulders. He moved the glasses up his nose. "Meryem, I am sorry. Without laboratory tests, we cannot do anything. I am afraid that humanity has failed you. We never figured out the particular enzymes that your body lacks. Whatever knowledge we had on the path to a cure has been lost in the looting and decay of our society. I have a packet of aspirin to make the pain a little milder. Though, you will still feel the pain through the blanket of analgesic." Meryem walked out of the doctor's office dejected. There was no hope, only days of suffering ahead of her. Why couldn't she have a lethal disease that would shorten her day, yet leave her with a few unbridled, joyful days, so that she could at least live for a bit. STORY CONTINUES Back at the bus remained the German Klaus, the strictly religious Abda, and the quiet Meryem. Klaus was kneeling on the floor bowing forward repeatedly. Meryem and Abda had settled to sit on the bus stairs side by side. The scene was very peaceful. A few large oak canopies provided them with refreshing shadow. A soft late afternoon wind eased up the air. Glorious mountain tops surrounded the lake from all sides. Pekhat, the teacher, slowly walked toward them from the tip of the turn. He plugged away little leaves and dust from his teacher vest. His face looked satisfied. From the tip of the turn, he could see both bays and everyone had made it down safely, except for the three students back at the bus. "I know why Klaus is still up here. He is doing the traveling rites. However, I have no clue, why you two ladies don't have fun down there." "As you can see on my traditional clothes, my father is very strict with the pious dress code. I have so many layers of clothing that they will take days to dry and I will get sick," said Abda. "Abda, I respect your father and where he is coming from. But, Meryem, you are always so quiet. What is your reason?" "I am in terrible pain. I have Peripheral Neuropathy. All the nerves in my pain are hurting, as I were being skinned alive. My body has an enzyme lacking that makes all the nerves deteriorate. That's why I would just like to sit here and hope that the bout of pain leaves soon." "Very well, Meryem. I will check back on everyone to make sure that nobody drowns." Pekhat walked away with pep in his step. A class trip was the highlight for Pekhat. Klaus slowly raised his torso to sit on his heels. He looked at Meryem questioning. Meryem's face was pale beneath her olive light gray skin. Her face was large, like a diamond. Her eye brows were full. Her eyes and knows showed classical Mediterranean beauty. Abda was poking around a nut in the lowest stair of the bus. "Meryem, you were the only one in the bus kind to me during the water episode." "Oh, I know how painful embarrassment can be. I don't want anyone to go through that." Klaus looked down for a moment to steady is conviction to speak a secret. "I was born in the West. I have learned a medical technique called acupuncture. It may help your pain. Please, don't tell anyone. I could easily be beheaded for being a Western influence." Klaus' and Meryem's eyes locked. They were exchanging how safe and trustworthy they could be with each other. Meryem's eyes became watery from the pain and memories of often disappointed hope on a cure. "Okay, Klaus, how does it work?" "There are special points on your body that can influence the energies in your body. My finger tips will touch you in those places. And, I will move the energy." "Okay." Klaus carefully moved up the side of Meryem. Then, he reached his hand to the back of her neck. He felt the smooth young skin. Then, his fingers followed the bumps of the vertabraes down to the seventh cervical vertebra. That is a point larger than the others. From there he found the point DU-14. He closed his eyes and consciously breathed. His touch was so subtle to only touch the very thin skin without pushing down to the bone. Meryem felt the first male touching her in her grown up life. The male finger felt rougher than a woman. There was so much more strength and authority behind Klaus' movement in her intimate space than that of her mother. Her heart started beating from feeling his manly breath and smelling his body odor. There was the risk of getting caught. Everything around her turned a little more glassy and surreal. "My father beats me. Everyone deserves a secret without punishment. I will be the watchout," said Abda. She got up, stepped a few steps into the dirt off the road. She faced the direction of the teacher. Meryem felt a tingling at the back of her head. Then, waves of goose bumps spread over her skin like fast crawling insects. Her forehead tightened with a tension headache that pulled into one tight spot. She took a deep inhale. And, suddenly all the pain and everything fell off. She felt excited and exuberant. She stood up. She thanked Klaus. Meryem's eyes glanced over his cheek, nose and focused on the short blond stubble facial hair. His skin tone and pores were so different from the people she knew. She broke of her glance, when his thin lips started a smile. "Klaus, what are your plans for the first college year? Are you going to join any of the secret societies?" "There are secret societies. It does not sound like anything an Islam convert could join without getting into trouble and false accusations." "It's an old Kurdish tradition. Our whole lives are ruled by tradition, religion, and restrictions. However, during college, we are allowed to join secret clubs. Everything is fine, as long as nobody finds out. You could do a secret acupuncture club." "Meryem, you are kind and reckless at the same time. Imam Abu Dawood is going to have me publicly killed, if he founds out what I did to you." Abda joined them, "It is true. Even I have heard about it. Yesterday, I took one of the number fliers home. You know the fliers that have only random numbers? It is actually a very simple code. My mother and I use a similar code to keep secrets from my father. Father can have bad tempers. And, he is very afraid of not being religious enough. He thinks that is the reason that he can't find a job." Abda continued, "You simply take the alphabet and assign every letter a number. During one of my dull afternoons at home, when I am not allowed to go outside, it is an easy way to kill time." "What did the flyer say?" asked Meryem. Abda continued, "Sadiman is starting an alcohol club in the basement of the college. He has plans for a distilling device, rites, and everything. You know how highly forbidden alcohol is and how funny it makes people behave." They were silent for a moment. In the distance, they heard a rumbling like large trash cans being dragged over uneven ground mixed with thunders of lightning. It paused and continued. Pekhat came running with an animated face. "The artillery is shelling the last American holdout. What you here is not too far, the shelling of the Shanidar Cave system. The last surviving Americans have holed out there. You are witnessing history. We have those infidels soon extinguished like a cockroach under our heel. I have read about it in the paper before we left." Klaus lowered his gaze and spoke through his teeth: "Death to the infidel." BACKFLASH: KLAUS' CONVERSION The room had narrow and tall doors typical of Germany. The tables and chairs were also a little narrower and a little taller. The light switch for the weak overhead light fixture was squarer as well. The table was neatly decked with a white table cloth hanging precisely 10 centimeters over the edge. The place mats and napkins were aligned to their perfect place. Klaus' father sat at the head of the table. The head was buried into his palms. The elbows were resting on the table. The father wore a freshly ironed flannel shirt with diagonal lines. Of course the shirt was tucked into pants with a neat black belt. Over it, he wore a wool vest with light turquoise and pink squares. The glasses with the black flames lay turned over on the table in front of him. "No. No. No. My conscience does not allow me to do what is not in my heart. Some reason must remain." The mother sat at the side of the table with her spine erect. Her fingers moved along the edge of the place mat inch by inch. Her hair was long, straight with a rough surface and the occasional gray hair in between. The lips were painted tastefully pink. Her eyes sunk into the creases with sorrow. "Karl some things have to be approached fluidly, especially when they are as wrong as these." Klaus was hiding behind the frame of the open kitchen door. He held a hammer low at his right side and ready to swing. He was a tall, muscular, blond teenager. The veins on his lower arm popped out from the tense position. His pressed lips occasionally hissed air out to relieve the tense mental pressure. His haircut was fashionable and youthful. On the kitchen counter were two sharp knifes laid ready to grab. The silence and immobile position remained for easily an hour. However, the time was forgotten in the blink of a moment, when the door was battered in by heavy boots. Syrian soldiers dressed in black stormed into the small room five men strong. They poked their rifle tips into every door and closet. They threatened the rifle butts at the family. Outnumbered, Klaus let the hammer fall to the floor. He joined his parents lined up against the white wall with the family photos in little frames. There were the memories of him growing up, of summer vacations, of relatives, and all of that was gone forever. His eyes lingered for a second on the colorful beach ball from a summer vacation at the North Sea. There he had seen a pretty girl that he had spun love stories about for the rest of the summer. Karl had a red face. His shirt was pulled out of his pants. He silently muttered 'pant shitters.' He had looked at the pants of the soldiers. The butt of the pant was hanging down without filling the pants with a juicy ass. 'Pant shitters, can't wear real pants.' The commander was marked by a cap with a sun visor instead of a helmet like everyone else. The commander strutted into the room with a mustache like Hitler's, if Hitler had forgotten to groom it for two weeks. He grabbed Karl by the neck and thrust him on the floor. "Will you convert to Islam?" "No, I cannot in clear conscience say yes, because Islam like any religion is a bunch of baloney. I live by my own code. And, that code forbids to me to lie." "Oh, Karl would very much like to convert to Islam, please forgive his rash tongue," cried mother. The commander scratched his head. He was not familiar with this situation. "No, he has to say it. You can't say it for him." "Sir, I have told you where I stand. I respect your religious belief. We can have a cup of coffee with exquisite plum tarts. We can be friends. I might even become enlightened to your religion tomorrow. However, today, my answer is a firm 'no.'" "So, I will take your hand for Allah!" A soldier at the ready, a young bug eyed looking man, lurched forward and pulled Karl's wrist across the table. A burly full bearded soldier raised a red fireman's axe over his head. Mother jumped onto her knees to lay her arm protectively over her husbands. The bearded soldier's arms with rolled up sleeves hit down without mercy. Both limbs were cleanly severed in the middle of the lower arm. Blood splattered onto the crisp white table cloth. The lack of arterial blood surging out was the only difference to horror movies on TV. "You bloody bastards did not have to cut off my wife's arm." "Argh, your vile tongue shall belong to Allah as well," yelled the commander with his head shaking violently. The commander took a nine inch blade out of his front pocket. The commander struggled to get a hold onto the tongue. Not so much from Karl's resistance but the natural pain reflex, it was hard to get a hold. So, the blade cut into lips, face, cheeks, and tongue. Blood splattered all over the commander's hand, sleeves, and face. Klaus dropped to his knees at the feet of the commander: "Powerful commander, how long have I waited for you to come and free me from this oppressive man. My heart longs to become a Muslim. Nothing would make my heart beat higher than bowing at your side in prayer to Allah. Please, make me Muslim. I cannot wait any longer. Forgive my burning desire for the love of god cannot be tame." The commander let go of the butchered tongue separation. His eyes looked confused. He looked at his underlings for advice. They tried to hold their guns firmer to look tough and avoided his glances. With his hands soaked in Karl's blood, the commander threw up his arms. "Take him. We got what we needed. You are a Muslim now." Karl has never seen his parents again. Presumably, they converted a few days later or have long been dead. STORY CONTINUES All looked up, as a truck rumbled by. It was an old white Mercedes truck from forty years ago. The engine compartment bulged in front of the cabin like a nose. The truck bed had a enclosure of wooden boards built on it. The wood was bleached by the sun. The wooden boards had roughly been nailed together. The truck bed was filled with women soldiers standing with their rifles at the side. They wore dark uniforms and red hats. One of the women sat on top of the truck passenger window. Her body was outside the truck cabin. She held onto the tuck. The wind played with the hair in her face. A machine gun was strapped to her back. She looked fierce ahead. The Pesmerge were known to be fierce fighters. They were often compared to Amazon fighters. They were on their way to mop up whatever the artillery shells had left bleeding to death. After a minute of silence to take in the new perspective, the boys came running back up the steep lake slope. The dried dirt of the slope stuck to the front of their wet naked, nude bodies like paint. Feet and arms were deeply steeped in mud. Their chest had brush strokes from occasional stumbling. And, some of them had gotten the mud on their faces as well. Their clothes were waiting for them in little scattershot piles along the road. The white undies were in the center of the clothes nests. The young women came in straggling minutes later. They were soaking wet with large mud clumps stuck to their clothes. They struggled with the slope and panted from the effort. Pekhat was instantly embarrassed about not having planned out the bath visit better. Having the chance for an impromptu lecture about final battle of the culture wars between Christianity and Islam was diminished. His face looked out over the lake instead of connecting with each every one as he usually did. BACKFLASH: SADIMAN STARTS A SECRET ALCOHOL CLUB Sadiman had faced the white brick wall turned light gray for a while. His eyes had traced the vertical grooves up and down. He had peered through the tiny pinholes in the wall without moving. Two ten-foot tall birch trees lined both sides of the wall section. The trunks had the typical pattern of white bark with light gray spots. The leaves were shimmering year round in a bright spring green. This was the shunned edge of the university's outdoor lunch area. It was not the wall itself that made him hesitate. It was not exactly the students that made him hesitate. They had cleared out to their class rooms this late after noon. He shifted onto his other leg to give the standing leg a reprieve from the bones slowly sinking through the joint sockets. He took another deep breath into his chest constricted by tense muscles. "Activity breeds prosperity," he mumbled in his head. He stepped off the concrete path into the dirt path with his shining brown leather shoes that screamed business. He taped his flyers among the other number flyers. University tradition had reserved this spot to paste flyers that were filled with numbers arranged into neat grids. These flyers were secret invitation into underground clubs. They violated Sharia law or tradition in some ways. It was an oddity, where tradition bestowed the right to break tradition. The moment that he stepped backwards onto the concrete path, a strong hand grabbed his neck. Icy shock shivers shot down his spine. Every muscle in his body became rigid like a rock. The breath shot out of his mouth in a short punch. His last thought was that he was wearing his finest suit with slacks and pressed shirt to celebrate the first day of his new enterprise. Katyusha Babies "Sadiman," hissed the authoritative voice of Iman Abu Dawood, " even the new offspring of a merchant family has to learn the boundaries of heavenly law. Let me have one of those flyers." Imam Abu Dawood was dressed in his black cleric clothes with the neat buttons, pockets, and seems. His head was covered in a rolled black head dress. His beard was long and diligently tapered into a sharp triangle. The glasses were lifted onto his nose with purpose. He focused onto Sadiman's flyer to decipher it. "For the love of your family, I will give you twice the punishment. Because if your bad intentions aren't stopped now, they will end very badly. The verdict is 25 lashes on the soles of your feet. And, I will take you to the university court plaza now to administer them." "Four – four", stammered Sadiman. "Four? Are you trying to bargain divine judgment like a chicken in the market?" "Four, you need four credible witnesses for a conviction. The scriptures require four reliable, credible witnesses. You are very credible. You are only one." "Ha, you studied the scriptures." Imam Abu Dawood let go of Sadiman and looked around the empty lunch area. With a stunned look in his eyes, Imam Abu Dawood tilted his head sideway. Then, he turned and walked away without speaking another word. The lower part of his robe weaved and fluttered with the swing of his legs. The leather sandals quieted their low slabs on the ground in the distance. Sadiman tried to step forward. However, the adrenaline pumping in his leg had shaking him so much that the legs collapsed beneath him like soft foam. With the help of a chair, he raised himself up only to fall again and spill the contents of his school bag onto the floor. More flyers, books, pens, coins spilled out. Lying sideways on the floor, propped up by his arms, he translated his number flyer in his head: "Every Thursday, 5 PM, secret alcohol club meets. Bring berries, fruit, grains." Sharia law forbade every Muslim from drinking intoxicants. With the whole word having converted to Islam. He would have the only water hole in the world. And, his brothers had told him stories of Dick Tracy, Al Capone, and Bonny and Clyde, the heroes during the American prohibition. Sadiman saw his future as the kingpin of a vast underground alcohol syndicate. STORY CONTINUES However, as everyone entered the bus, Pekhat was still focused enough on his job to catch Talti trying to sneak past him to the back of the bus. Pekhat snatched Talti by the ear and twisted it firmly. Talti took a quick knee to ease the torque on his ears, "Pekhat, please, I will sit in the front row." Talti found himself sitting next to the gentle Delal. There couldn't have been a greater contrast. Talti was a large and had the body and mind of a farm hand. His eyes were slightly dull. His stamina was always ready to push. Delal was smallish with delicate facial features. She had refined eye browse, eyes, and nose. There was always a sparkle in her eyes. Her eyes were always ready to connect with another person and to observe what was happening. Talti sat silently, because he was unfamiliar with women. His mind rather enjoyed thinking about the boisterous run on the slope and the hard strokes propelling him through the water. He remembered playing rough with other boys, pulling two under water at the same time. It felt good to feel his muscles flex as they pulled down the other boys. And, then during a turn it happened. Delal's arm was pushed onto Talti during the sharp serpentine turn. Her arm felt like half the heft of his body. It felt so foreign that it startled Talti's mind. Delal was quick to excuse herself. However, Talti's mind wasn't quickly back to his day dreams. Awakened, he noticed the faint female smell coming from his seat mate so close to his nose. It was a mixture of fresh water, dark mud scents, and above all was something gentle, soft, foreign, and definitely feminine. He looked at her face. Her skin was lightly brown. However, the brown was so vibrantly colorful. Her lips were small and beautifully shaped. The color was between a clear read and a soft pink. Being so close, he could see the creases running across her lips. "You are Delal, aren't you? You are the niece of the Omer boys." "Yes, you keep fighting with them." "Oh, yeah, we have a long feud, since they dishonored my family." "You think by flirting with me, they will like you more." "I am not flirting with you. How dare you!" Talti looked out of the window. Oak trees with twisted limbs were outside. The texture of the logs had many different splotches of brown and green. Every tree had its own texture. The canopies were tall and inspired dreams of climbing up there. The remaining sun rays shot white-yellow lines through the leaves. The orange horizon changed the hue of the leaves into something soft and warm. Delal was interrupted out of her thoughts. "Just for asking, how much is your dowry?" "The dowry is a delicate conversation with my father. If you want to get to know a girl, start asking about her like what kind of book she reads." "Okay, what kind of book do you read?" "You are only saying that because I just told you." Silence fell again. He liked the way that she moved her head, when she listened. It was like her head was glued to his lips moving. And, when he paused, she'd look sideways, as if she had a profound insight about what he said. People always paid attention to what he said, because they want to get an early warning before the beating. However, she paid attention to him as if to understand him. It made her seem so smart. The sun was gone completely. The bus shot through the darkness with a triangle of light running ahead of it. The camp fire lights of the Bedouin camp were coming closer. They would stay here for the night before returning back to the city. Delal looked at Talti with a guilty face. Her eyes showed care. Perhaps, she had been too rude. "Actually, I am reading the script for the school theatre play." "Oh, I am so signing up for it. PEKHAT, DO YOU HEAR, I AM SIGNING UP FOR THE THEATRE PLAY." BACKFLASH: ABDA'S FATHER Abda's father sat against the wall. He stared at his ten year old son in front of him, who was writing his homework into the school book. Abda's father was not a large man. However, his shoulders were bulky. The room was almost completely dark. The windows were covered with clothes. He liked it that way. Abda's mother was standing at the far end sorting food into bowls. Abda sat at the opposite side of the room and wearily observed her dad. "You forgot a letter in your sentence. Write the sentence ten times to practice," ordered Abda's father. Her brother only looked up for a second. Then, his head went back down to work on drawing the letters into the paper with two much pressure. His little fingers were cramped around the pen with huge force. He was learning to draw the circles and lines that made up letters. "Have mercy on the boy. The other boys have been out playing for two hours already. I can hear them laugh for joy," pleaded Abda's mother. Abda's father did not respond to the comment or even look at mother. He ignored her now the same way, that he had ignored her pleas for him to get up and find work. He had been sitting in the same spot for three days now. Two years had passed since he worked as a cab driver in Baghdad. Reluctantly, he had moved to Kurdistan for better job prospects. For unspoken reasons, he had not dared leave the house ever since they had arrived in Kurdistan. The boy finished his penalty practice sentences. With a quick smile, he turned the sheet over to his father. The letters were overly large, yet clearly legible. "Your B's are off. Write ten sentences that start with B." "Ehwand, what have you become. I do not recognize you anymore." "Abda still recognizes me. Abda, come here. Give me a kiss." Abda sat against the opposite wall. She was dressed in a black traditional dress. Her head piece covered her entire head and face. Only a small slit allowed her eyes to look out into the world. She was a timid eighteen year old girl. Her bare light brown hands held onto her knees pulled against her chest. Mother approached father, "You do not touch the girl. I won't let it happen." Father lifted his right hand over his right shoulder and hit down into her crook between the shoulders and neck. Mother was thrown across the room. Her face hit something hard, a cup or a container. A black mark began its first second of lifetime and a welt joined it. A pen dropping to the floor cut the momentarily silence. "You women believe that in permissive Kurdistan, you don't have to obey the man of the household anymore, do you? Mohamed has still entrusted in me the leadership of this house. And, none of you will go out to fraternize with those wild Kurds. Now, kiss me, Abda." Abda slowly rose. The ruffling sound of her clothes scared Abda. She wanted to be invisible and inaudible. She kneeled down in front of her father twice the size of her and an anger in his face that must have come from the depth of hell. Her mind became ultra-aware of the little room that the whole family had lived in. There was only a low wooden table in the center of the room. Rugs around the side of the room had been their cots. A small fireplace in a corner was the kitchen. She had never escaped the breathing, stinking dragon of her father. She lifted her veil. Her eyes were actually green. The cheek section beneath her eyes were so round that they seemed like two little ping pong balls. Her nostrils were overly round, like a piggy nose. She leaned forward to kiss her father softly. Just before the kiss, she inhaled for courage. And, she smelled the putrid body odor of a tormented fearful man. While she felt her father's facial hair pierce her useful skin, she heard the sobbing crying of her mother behind her. "Ehwand, I need to buy new milk. We have no more milk for dinner," stated mother pressing down her sobs. "What woman? You just bought milk yesterday. There should be a full jar," replied father. "Mother is right. I had the last bit of milk. And, remember, sharia law requires that mother have a male companion in public. You must sent my brother with her," said Abda softly. Father nodded to it. Mother and brother left the small room. For a moment, the blinding desert sun stunned the two remaining, Ehwand and Abda. Abda knew that there was more milk left. Abda knew that Kurdish law was more lax and allowed women to be near equal. She had saved her mother and sister from her father's vile mood. She was the martyr. She knew what awaited her. The blue marks on her shins and arms from two days ago had turned green. As a last step of self soothing, she wrapped her opposing hands across her forearms and braised for what was to come. STORY CONTINUES The bus arrived at the Bedouin camp. The youth filed quietly out of the bus with tired eyes looking keenly ahead for what awaited them. A large black tent with no walls welcomed them. Ancient Berber rugs were rolled on the floor. The rugs had equally luxurious and worn patterns. Many feet had stepped onto the rugs that had been created hundreds of years ago during the high phase of the Middle Eastern civilizations. Round pillows were scattered across the blanket. Their shoes were left in a long line at the edge of the rag. Their bare feet and bare hands ruffled through the darkness of night to get a seat at the large tin plates laden with rice piles. Everyone ate like a wolf in the semi darkness of only a few lanterns. And, then they fell asleep pretty much, where they had eaten. The tall mountains and the black tent cover wrapped everything in near complete darkness. Only the ruffling sound in the tent fabric provided any sense of direction. The youths were lying in a scattershot fashion on the thick rag with pillows pulled under their heads. They slept. Delal slept curled into a fetal position. Klaus slept flat on his back with his hand folded over his belly. Talti hugged the pillow under his chest lying face down. Talti dominated the pillow like a little animal pinned down. Somewhere in the middle of the night, it could have been right after going to sleep or an hour before morning, there was no watch or moon to tell the time, Meryem screamed. It was a short startled scream that woke her up. She was confused to why she had been screaming. And then, as she moved to the other side, she realized why. The nerve pain was shooting through her arms and legs. She shivered as quietly as she could to not draw attention. However, the fabric rubbing against each other ever so gentle made quiet swoosh sounds. Delal heard a soft repetitive sound penetrating into her dream of trees and mountain sheep. The lofty tree tops faded into the blackness of the night. She felt the woven rag underneath her hands. She recollected that she was sleeping in a Bedouin tent. The only thing that she could see in the darkness was a boulder reflecting faint light outside the tent. Delal's hand lifted and reached into the soft danger of blackness. There was no telling what her hand would touch, dirty feed, leftover food, or black void. Her hand felt soft, wet, and warm skin. The skin easily sled apart to let her fingers sink deeper than she had wanted. It was a mouth. Her hand jerked back into the air. "Who is this?" asked Meryem with a breathed whisper. "Meryem!? Are you alright?" whispered Delal as she turned over to Meryem's direction. Delal's handed carefully patted hand length by hand length forward to find the outline of Meryem's body. "Oh, night terrors. Go back to sleep," replied Meryem. Delal found Meryem's hand. Meryem's hand was shivering tiny, fast movements. The skin felt cold and clam. Delal thought of her sweet, little brother, who was still a young child. Her little brother would get afraid at night and pee in his pajamas. The only thing that calmed him was his older sister holding him and pulling him tight. Then, he would burrow his disheveled and sweaty head into her bosom. The hot tight little body would gradually ease, relax, cool, and snuggle softly. Delal shifted her body carefully closer. Alternating, she moved her hips, feet and shoulders to remain silent in the middle of the pack of nosy college freshmen. Delal's body hugged Meryem's from the side. Delal could feel the hips and shoulders under Meryem's clothing. Delal could also feel one of the boobs, the soft mound under Meryem's clothes. Meryem stiffened to the uninvited touch and then relaxed to the soothing and healing feeling of it. Encouraged by the receptive energy from Meryem, Delal gave Meryem little kisses on the forehead and dotted her way down to the cheeks. Delal did the same for her little brother, who'd always intently sense the touch of her lips on him. So did Meryem, until Delal's lips touched her own soft lips. They felt each others' lips for split second. Yet, the soft, warm, and moist touch lingered in their minds. The sensitive part of their body stimulated them deeply. Shocked at her accidental kiss, Delal pulled back and lay on her back. After a moment, Meryem realized how deathly embarrassed Delal must be. Meryem hated the mental needles of pain that shame brings as much as she hated the nerve pain. So, Meryem rolled to her side and kissed Delal onto the lips. She held the kiss long and lingering. Both fully felt the nurturing warmth in their body and the tingling in their breasts. Then, they broke the kiss and remained the night holding hands dearly. BACKFLASH: DELAL AT THE MARKET For a moment, Delal's eyes were fixed on the man. White spit bubbles dotted the corners of his mouth. He had been yelling 'two-fifty, sweetheart' over and over. His eyes were darting side to side without focus. The white of his eye popped out from hours of frenzy. The black beard stopples in the light brown face told the story of sleeping in his market stand for days. Her eyes let go of the market crier. The market criers tried to win customers by being louder, a poor and miserable job. They would have to stay with the stand for the entire season. Someone might come at the middle of the night. Their boss would lose out on that sale. Grownups with their big coats and bags were pushing through the narrow market street. Sandals shuffled through the dry dirt. Dates, figs, wild cucumbers, and bananas were neatly placed in round baskets. The white square buildings with the black squares provided the backdrop. Delal let out a deep breath and dove into the crowd. She hugged her little baby clothes to her body to protected. She surrendered her body to being touched from all sides. Being a short young woman, she only saw big bulking backs and the occasional fat breast about two inches in front of her face. A butt with a scruffy coat bumped into her belly. She pushed herself in between the gauntlet of two smooth cotton dresses. A man stalled in front of her like a rock in a river had her pause for a moment, before she was pushed onto him. She smelled the cinnamon scent of his perfume, while the crowd shoved her around him. A quick hand out of nowhere groped her boob for a moment before disappearing into anonymity. She took a sharp breath from the rush of sensation. A space in the crowd let her seize up what was in front of her. A scrawny little dog looked up at her with sweet black eyes. The tail of the beige dog wagged wildly. A blemished turnip was beneath its paw. The dog picked up the turnip in its mouth with black lips and disappeared into the maze of legs. Then, the ocean of backs filled her vision again. An elbow hit her face unpleasantly. "Ana as'fi," said a trailing voice. Her nose felt wet. She touched the nose, while clutching onto the shopping bag. There was no blood. A vendor noticed her pause and tried to reach his arm to her with a wedge of an orange, "free sample, extra juicy." At the side of the sea fish stand, she found refuge from the stream of bodies. The fish had stood in the summer heat for half day already. The smell was overwhelmingly intense. The fish butcher hit his cleaver onto the wood board over and over. The loud banging cut through the general market noise. A customer was hooked. The cleaver severed the tail and head uncleanly. Within a second the fish landed in a plastic bag with a handful of bloodied ice. A few bills changed hands. Delal entered the outdoor stairs wedged between two buildings. A round portal let her enter the second floor store room. An elegant round Arabian carpet lied in the middle of the room. A colorful pattern of symbols had been woven into it. Lounge chairs made from bamboo offered the customers a chance to recline and sample the product. Water color paintings of ancient Mesopotamia and its riches illustrated the walls of the room. "Delal, how nice to see you! Are you here to buy any fine coffee, cigars, or tea? Oh, you want to see Baban. Just go on to the back." The large chested man with the elegant striped Oxford shirt smiled warm. The hair product in his hair was glistening in the light. He breathed easy. His face was well rested. Perhaps, there was even a hint of smudged mascara around his eyes. He stood proud turning the golden wedding ring on his hand like it was a special prize. Delal smiled silently. She ducked a short bow and hurried with little steps into the backroom. The doorway was covered with pearl strings of varying color. The backroom was a basic kitchen with a functional dining table. The whole merchant family lived here. A pot with a simmering stew was on the stove. At the dining table sat Baban. He was a skinny white haired medium tall man. His arms were tight by his side. He was leaning forward to hold the short tobacco pipe in his mouth. His face had two prominent creases down the front of his cheeks. The pants and shirts looked like they were two numbers too large and kept in place by a belt tightened two notches two tight. Katyusha Babies "Delal, my sweat heart! And, you finally brought your sweet little baby sister. Come here. I'll put the pipe out." The man's face lit up. His eyes grew bluer. The smile widened. All the muscles in his face did their lifting and adjusting like a circus tent being raised up. His shaky hand with as much flesh as that of a starving man raised up to lovingly touch the cheeks of the baby sister. The baby sister was in a bundle of clothes with only her face sticking out. He broke into coughing. Catching himself, he raised a pressed and monogrammed handkerchief to his face to wipe away the blood. Delal's eyes widened, yet she kept her face steadfast from pity. "Can I help you anything, sweet Baban?" "Delal, sit down. You are a guest. I will have you some tea and a sample of my favorite stew." Banan got up. His knees and pelvis remained partially bent. He glided his hand along the white wall on the way to the stove to steady himself. With a heavy heart, she let him do the heavy chore, because he was too proud to accept help. With a small glass of hot Arabic tea and a white cup of lamb stew, they amicably conversed. Banan would tilt his head back and raise his head every once in a while, as to signal that there was great meaning in what young and naïve Delal had told him. "Banan, I love you so much. Do you really have to die soon?" "My sweet Delal, seeing you one more time brings so much joy to my heart." He swiftly looked into the sales room to ensure that it was empty before continuing. "I have HIV. My body is consumed any time now, it will take over. Once it is visible, my son will take me into the desert. There is too much danger to my family by anyone finding out." "How could people take vengeance at a sick, old man, a good and sweet man?" "Oh, Delal, if the world were full of people like you, I'd be safe. However, the current world looks at HIV as a gay man's disease. And, gay men suffer honor killings. Often the mob takes out the whole family. You know, my family lives by being merchants. We can't lose customers." "But, is there no medicine?" "There used to be medicine, dear. The Western nations had developed drugs to cure HIV. However, they were all overrun by Muslim nations. The cure has been lost." "Oh, Banan, tell me more about the time, when Western nations existed!" "This is very dangerous knowledge. They do not like Western sympathizers. But, I will tell you about Arthur's Tavern. New York used to be a city in America. The buildings were 100 floors high and more. I kid you not." "No way! There are no buildings taller than four stories. I'd give you eight floors for a superhuman nation. You are making this up again." "No, dear, I stood there middle in the canyon of a street between the tall buildings. I'd crank my neck back to see the top. The top disappeared into the sky. That's why they called them sky scrapers. So, I was walking into this establishment in the basement. The room was dark and smoky. A jazz band played loud and tugged my heart strings. Grown men were crying. And, then they made us laugh, while slapping a stranger on the shoulder. Such emotion in the music." "Did you smoke too much of that, what do they call it, hashish?" "Yes, I had a little hashish. It put the most splendid mood on me and my travel partner. Half the people in America smoked hashish. Still the music was wild and animalistic. The imam would have sentenced all to death. And, then a black woman in a silvery dress stepped onto stage. A thousand tiny metal pieces reflected the light of her curvy body. She waved her behind at us, such a sultry sight." "Your face looks like bliss, yet the woman just insulted you by showing her behind." "Oh, sweet Delal, with all those puffy and shapeless Kurdish clothes, you haven't seen the beauty of the human body yet. Silently watch this. KALFERAD COME HERE." The sales man from the customer lounge strutted into the room. His shined brown leather shoes clapped on the floor – clack, heel toe, clack heel toe. His legs swung wide with straight niece. He smiled warmly at the two with his hands holding each other in an active pose. "Kalferad, would you be so nice to get me that strainer out of the bottom shelf." Kalferad strutted to the bottom closet. The pant legs extended straight into their pressed shape, whenever he extended the knee. When he bent the knee, the soft fabric rippled luxuriously down the whole length. "Watch closely," whispered Baban to Delal. Kalferad bent forward with his legs straight. His hard trained butt bulged large in the pants. The side dimples were clearly visible. The gluteus muscles were a round bulb. The white leather belt looked neat against the black slacks. He stood up, placed the strainer on the table, and left. "Delal, did you notice your inner reaction to what you saw?" "I am confused. I felt myself strongly drawn to watch and pay attention to his butt and the way his legs moved. I don't know why. I don't understand the purpose of my fascination. However, I feel like I could watch him all day picking up strainers from the bottom closet." "That, my dear, is the beauty of the human body. It is sexual tantalizing at its softest and pure lust at its strongest. That's why everyone covers up and wears those long dresses. Once you wake up that emotion, it is very powerful. You cannot be controlled anymore. And, the imams want to control you. Pst, that's a big secret." "So, what do I do with that emotion? Kalferad's butt won't go out of my head." "You have to let that emotion be free. It will lead you to the world's most beautiful experiences. However, watch yourself. Never let yourself get caught in Kurdistan with it." "You have so much knowledge that nobody else has. What happened next in that place in New York?" "That black woman in her very tight dress slowly rolled up her dress to just before we could see her underwear. Oh, it was the most delicious tease. We all held our breath hoping to see her underwear with the next inch up. Even the women were under the spell of her slow sensuous moves." "Baban, why would she take her clothes off? Wouldn't she be naked?" "Yes, she would be. You are wondering why. She was enjoying to feel sexually attractive. When we talk, I can tell on your face that you enjoy me listening to you. I can see that nobody really has an interest in your life and your thoughts. Having attention feels good. When you sing to your baby sister, she looks at you with her big eyes. It's a different kind of attention. It is admiration. It feels good as well." "We are not supposed to desire attention. My father in a rare moment slapped me on the wrist for telling a story too joyfully to house guests." "That's jealousy. People are very starved for attention. When they see somebody else getting attention, they become angry. There is nothing bad about wanting attention. It is a joy of living. However, having too much of what others lack makes them jealous. You have to always watch around you." "But, if I were a king, I could have also the attention I wanted!" "No, child. Especially, when you are a king, you have to watch around you. They may let you get away with it for a while. However, the poison in their hearts will grow and they will assassinate you in your sleep. When you enjoy attention, always make sure that everyone gets some. If everyone's cup is half full, they are too busy enjoying to notice your cup." "So, did the woman show her underwear?" "First, she rolled her dress down all the way to take it away from us. And, then it came down from the top little by little. The room was so dark that I could not see much. Yet, my mind painted her out in the most beautiful way. However, I did see her face. Her face had a sheen of sweat. It looked focused on her show, yet her eyes showed the deepest satisfaction at the power that she held over us." "What power? Was she armed?" "Power is when you have something that somebody else wants. It is power, because you can make them do something for that treasure. We all wanted more of her. She had displayed so much sex appeal. That made us feel so good. We wanted to keep feeling good." "I don't understand." "I'll show you. Haha, this will be a lot of fun. Here is the plan. When Kalferad passes you, you slap him on the butt. Curve your hand like this and do it with a nice and gentle slap. Leave your hand on his butt. Pinch your thumb and index finger together in between his butt cheeks. Then, pretend like nothing happened." "Oh, no, if I attack Kalferad, he will fight back. And, he is a man and a big one!" "Trust me, none of that will happen. My son is a good son. KALFERAD PASS ME A GLASS OF WATER." Kalferad appeared in the room with an upset face. "I have customers, I can't be in the back room for every little thing." Kalferad walked past the table. Delal did as she was told. She slapped Kalferad on the butt. She pinched her fingers between his butt cheeks. She was shocked at how deep her fingers reached. Kalferad jumped into the air. His feet sounded loud on the tile floor as he landed. "What was that?" "Nothing. Go fetch the water." Kalferad opened the faucet and placed the glass of water on the table. "What are you guys talking about?" "Kalferad, go back to the customers." "Oh, I can tell, they won't buy anything anyway. It's been so long since, I chatted with you two." "Kalferad, if you stay, you have to wash the floor." "No problem." Klaferad with his spick clean clothes grabbed the dirty rag and squatted to wash the floor as meticulously as nobody had before to steal time. Baban secretly squeezed Delal's hand and smiled with glee: "That is power." STORY CONTINUES The morning was invited by Bedouin women in traditional dress bringing large plates of food. Each woman was dressed in a single color - red, green, or blue. The sleeves of the arms were embroidered with white and golden stitching patterns of flowers and ornaments. The face covering was accentuated with gold pearls and blue stones. The bright teeth of their smile shimmered through the face covering. Their hair was black, flowing, and mid-back long. With the food came little copper plates of Kohl makeup. Kohl makeup is traditional Arab makeup for more than two millennia. It is made by burning a bowl of oil under a lid with only a small opening for the flame to breathe. The lid blackens with soot. After the layer of soot thickens over night, it can be loosened with a few drops of fresh oils into a paste. The college girls happily dabbed little clothes pieces into the Kohl makeup and applied it to their arms to look dramatic like desert beauties. Even the guys with Bedouin heritage applied some of the black Kohl to their eyelids. Everyone was jabbering with excitement at the good food, the excursion, and the makeup. The morning sun shone gloriously. The ground was dry and barren. However, tall oak trees grew out of the hard soil. The leaves with their unique shape happily waved in the air. Birds were chirping. Squirrels did their little dance of dashing and pausing to look. As if lighted by a strobe light, the squirrels were one moment flat against a tree limb with the arms stretched out to get a hold. The next moment, they were sitting on a branch nibbling on a nut in their tiny little black hands. BACKFLASH: ABDA'S FATHER ON THE WAY HOME IN BAGHDAD The day before Abda's family moved to Kurdistan, her father was working at the metal shop. His job was to stamp out a piece of metal with a machine. The job was simple. He had to lift both arms wide to push two buttons. The requirement to push two buttons made sure that he didn't live one hand in the machine by accident. Then, he'd pull the metal part out and put it into a trolley. He did that all days. His colleagues were crude. One of their favorite jokes was to stay words, while they'd pull their mouth apart with an index finger in both corners. That way, b's sounded like f's. They'd say Baghdad out loud and it sounded like 'fuck dat,' an American slur. They'd alternate between the fingers in the mouth and out 'Baghdad fuck dat.' Then, they'd laugh. On the way home, he walked with many other men down the street with no cars. Only a few running cars had been left over. The men were all dressed similarly. Low slippers, pants, shirt, all of it was probably a year old or older. Most held a little bag or brief case in the right hand that had been empty since lunch. Occasionally, a completely veiled woman walked the streets in the close escort of her husband. Sharia law was very strict. He noticed something a little off. At first, he had thought a completely veiled woman was walking with her husband. However, at the street corner, it seemed as if the woman had switched the man that she was walking next to. On closer examination, the man was not holding onto the woman like the other man. He decided to follow her one street down. The man next to her gave her a questioning and distant look. The woman swiftly stepped closer to a man on her other side. The first man stopped for a moment and then started following her as well. By the next intersection a handful of men were following her curious to find out what she was doing. The woman was wearing a black dress that hung from the top of her head. It covered everything. Only in front of her eyes was a see through veil that let her see the path in front of her. Her body shape was unusually tall and slender. Most women once veiled after the revolution had become fat hippos. That alone aroused her father to imagine an attractive woman under the black fabric. A bold man called out at her at a volume that stopped the whole street: "Where is your husband?" The woman did not reply, she broke loose of the illusion of walking next to a husband. Her feet were swiftly moving into her direction. The legs pulled the dress taught. Occasionally, the hem of the dress flicked up and exposed her lower calf. Abda's father had a raging hardon in his pants from seeing that much female skin. He could not miss out. He pushed a couple surprised men out of the way to follow the woman. A thick plum of men formed around the women. They all kept a cautious six feet distance to the woman. The mood of the men grew frenzied and emboldened. A male voice yelled, "She is without a husband." Another male voice yelled, "punish her." Another one yelled, "she disgraced all the women of Bagdad." The first assailant rapidly stepped into the space around the woman and pushed her onto the shoulder. The assailant swiftly ran back into the safety of the crowd. She lost her balance and fell against the concrete wall next to her. The crowd of men closed in around her. She panicked. Her arms and movement showed her desperateness. She pushed on. The crowd was still to shy to block her. A man with big white bland sneakers stepped out and kicked her flat in the butt. She whined loud and kept moving. The man with his sweaty red face quickly ran back into the crowd and disappeared. The mob of men started chanting 'whore – whore –whore.' The woman kept dashing on. The whole street had filled with more men pouring in from side streets. The third assailant stepped in front of her, reached the hand out, and slapped her across the face. The slap did not just brush her cheek. Her whole head was flung to the side. She collapsed to the ground. Her arms tried to crawl forward. She was stunned. The crowd pushed around her. The front row got a good look, yet they had to work hard to push back to avoid getting pushed over the woman. For a few seconds, the woman was in a bubble of safety. Then a pot bellied man with a soccer t-shirt stepped forward. He grabbed her by the ankle and started pulling her body from the sidewalk into the middle of the street. Her dress was pulled head over. Another man grabbed her by the arm. Her dress was lost in the frenzy. She was naked in her underwear. The men got a good look at her. She had a slender and trained body. That was a rarity. Once women had to cover their body and face, they stopped exercising or watching their weight. She was an astounding beauty in the ocean of hidden ugliness. Even her bra was sexy. It was a push up bra that only filled the lower half of the breast to expose the skin on the upper part of the breasts. Here eyes were big round, green, almost fish like. She used the moment of sexual confusion among the men to jump to her feet. She ran. Her long legs were flying. Her bare feet pushed up dust clouds with every hard running step. Her butt cheeks bubbled with each step. Her breasts heaved up and down softly like jelly with each bouncing step. Most men were too dazed by the naked display. However, a dozen men gave her chase. The sprinted close behind her. Her odds were stacked against her. One of the men had to be faster than her. Or, at least one man would be left to collect her, once she was exhausted. A gun shot run through the streets. A house door was open. A man dressed in religious black garb stood in the door with a gun. He held the woman by her hair in a cowering position: "I will deal with her as I see fit. She is my property." That night, Abda's father did not mention the incident. As a matter of fact, he did not say anything at all. And, whenever his wife attempted to find out what was bothering her, he only lifted the left hand a bit. Yet, there was so much intense emotion behind that little movement that Abda's mother swiftly withdrew. After four hours of silence, Abda's father only said 'pack everything.' The next day, they traveled to Kurdistan. STORY CONTINUES After breakfast, the teacher Pekhat brought a guest. The female commander of the local Pesmerge military unit had volunteered to speak to them and perhaps intrigue them into joining the army. While everyone sat Indian style, she stood at the edge of the Oriental rug. Her arms were crossed behind her back. Her body was a straight line that leaned forward as far as she could without toppling over. Commander Layila was dressed in a camouflage combat uniform with black attack boots. The black beret hat on her head was meticulously clean and perfectly positioned. Her face was smooth, symmetric, and even. A little makeup touched it up. There was no hiding that she was ten years older than the college freshmen. "Hi, my name is Layila. I am the commander of the local Pesmerge unit. They call me the Angel of Death by Love. Today, I will tell you how I earned that nickname." Layila faced the students rapt with attention with earnest intensity. "When I joined the Pesmerge, we were the first all women unit. We had a lot to prove. The command had given us only basic rifles, hand grenades, water flasks, and blankets. The orders told us to neutralize a band of American soldiers that were hiding in a cave." "The lay of the land was very much like here. There were tall peaks that only experienced mountain climbers could reach. Beneath the sheer walls was a new layer of rock that was more porous and fragile. Not only did it create softer slopes, it also created a maze of caves." "We were at the base of a debris slope. The oak trees covered us safely. The top of the debris slope had the black entrance hole of a cave. The infidels were hiding there. Whenever we stepped out of the forest, they sent bullets raining down on us. We could not get above the cave, because the sheer slopes required trained climbing skills and ropes. We didn't have that." "So, for the whole day, we played a little game. We'd shoot at the black hole high up. Under the cover of fire, we'd move our position. The Americans were smart. They conserved their munitions. Only every once in a while, did a few pops from a sniper rifle send us scurrying back to the protection of the tree line." "Taking out the Americans would have been easy. A single shoulder launched rocket could have been shot into the cave. The pressure of the explosion in the enclosure would have torn them all to pieces. Our male backup unit was better equipped and let us clearly know how eager they were to take over. However, we were the first all female unit and had to prove that women could do it." Katyusha Babies "The military leadership only gave us until the next morning. We need a plan, a ruse. So, we decided that I would be the lure. I would pretend to convert to their side to scout for a weakness in their defense. We took a white undershirt and wrote on it 'Surrender. I want to be American.'" "It took our collective knowledge to attempt to write the letters correctly in English. However, we did it. So, I raised the white undershirt over my head with my straight arms. I stepped out of the cover of the forest on the debris slope. My heart was pumping. I was fully aware that any second a single sniper shot could take my life." "For the next thirty seconds nothing happened. My boots sank into debris with every step forward. The pebbles rubbing against each other made the sole sound of the night. The sky was clear. My head was erect the whole time looking at the black hole upslope. Then, a short glitter in the black hole alerted me. The sniper had uncovered his sight. I froze unable to move." "How would he know that I was no danger to him? How would I know that it was safe to make another step forward? My compadres were tensely crouched behind trees. I could hear them breathe behind me." "I had learned that Americans run around naked and do scandalous, immoral things. Americans loved seeing naked boobs. So, I took my clothes off, all of them. I held up the white undershirt with one hand and pulled off my clothes one by one." "There I was a young eighteen year old girl, who had never been out of Kandil her whole life. No other country on earth allows female fighters. There I was fighting the final battle against the Americans. I was naked and had never seen another woman's bare forearms before. I told myself, 'praise Allah.'" "My breasts were bare in the night. My ass was naked and exposed to the world. Every inch of my skin bathed in the light of the moon. I stepped forward, one step at a time. I sent a prayer with each step. The debris hill was the steepest near the cave entrance. Looking back, I could see the camp fire of our fake camp to make the Americans believe, we were not right at the tree line." Layila adjusted her stance. She walked a little to the side. Her body was a little on the tall side. She was fit. She probably had been a skinny and unsure teenager taking giant actions for an outsized challenge. "When I reached the large boulders that acted as gun shields, my breath turned rapid. I had never seen an American before in my life. All the myth about the ugly and mean devils went through my head. My brother had suggested that they could literally spew fire. A nephew thought that they'd live of the blood of humans. Another nephew had corrected him that they live of the sins of faithful people." "Inside the cave were lanterns set to a faint light. The first things I saw were the many items that filled the cave as far as I could see. There were wooden crates with guns, ammunitions, grenades, specialized gear. There were DVD and CD covers strewn on the floor. Stereos and handheld TVs were stuck against the wall. There was even a blowup crocodile." "Then, hiding behind the riches were people sleeping in the shadows in camouflage uniform. I did not see them well. However, I saw the man with the sniper rifle in front of me. He did not look like any drawings that I had seen. He look a whole lot more like us, like a normal human being." "Of course, his face was redder, whiter and chubbier than any face that I had seen. His body was stocky. He had thrice the muscle of the strongest Muslim man that I had seen. It must be the diet high in pig and other protein. He smiled. It was so eerie – the smile. I near died with every step. I was there to kill him. And, he smiled like a lost daughter had arrived home." "He grabbed me by the arm to make me sit down with my back against the bare cold cave. He picked up a pouch and poured hot water into it. Nobody I knew ate old food out of a bag. While he stirred it, I watched his body." "His body was like a complete store. A beautiful black rifle hung in front of his chest. He had a side arm. He had knee pads. He had little cotton pouches on a belt. A nozzle for a canteen was hanging on his left shoulder. His right shoulder had a radio. A metal helmet hung at his butt. Not our whole unit taken together had as me gadgets as that single American soldier." "The pouch that he handed me was the size of two hands. It smelled strongly of food. I knew that Allah permits anything for the cause of bringing down infidels. So, I obliged. I started eating. At first, the paste tasted foreign and odd. It did not please my palate. However, half way down the pouch, I felt this appetite that I had never felt in my life before. I felt like an animal devouring food. My fork could not race fast enough to stuff my mouth. The American animal spirit had begun to take a hold of me." "The American with his thin red hair squatted next to me with the rifle across his hip. He smiled wide and watched me. He seemed rather friendly, like a good uncle. When I was done, he handed me a pebble sized thing wrapped in aluminum. I opened the wrapper. A black ball was inside. I ate it." "The black ball melted on my tongue. It felt so soft. It was sweet. And, then I got so excited out of nowhere that I was breathing hard. My mind forgot about the war. All I wanted was more of those balls. My captor laughed. Then, I realized that he was giving me drugs to make me addicted and turn me into his pet. I calmed myself down. I was still naked." "We sat silently facing each other in the dark cave with everyone still asleep. He tried to talk to me every once in a while. Some of it, I understood by his gestures. His name was Eric. He wanted to know my name. He was easier gullible to make friends or it was a very soft form of interrogation." "My colleague unit operators had told me that if things should get messy, I should tell them 'I would like to have sex now.' It was a very long phrase. The girl that taught me to say it after dozens of tries did not want to divulge what it meant." "Eric looked at me startled with a smirk. I repeated 'I would like to have sex now' more firmly. He kicked the boots of a woman soldier. The woman soldier was completely black. The nose was large and flat. This soldier was very overweight. She easily could fit a whole goat into her belly. Her hair was short and coarse. I had never seen such a human being." "The woman woke up and I told her as respectfully as I could, 'I would like to have sex now.' Her whole body bounced with her laughter. The fat on her body created ripples like ripples on water surface. She said something about me. They seemed to laugh at my expense. So, I tried again and very clearly pronounced each syllable." "The woman punched Eric's shoulder and left into the depth of the cave. Eric shrugged his shoulders and took of his clothes. The jump suit pulled of quickly. His muscles were so large. They seemed swollen in comparison to the Kurdish man. When he saw my aghast face starring at his chest, he proudly flexed them. It was like a whole continent moved." "The most peculiar part of his body was the little nozzle at the hips. I had seen little boy babies having a nozzle there to pee. The babies have tiny soft once. His was large, hefty, and hard. Would you believe that it pointed straight up like the branch of a tree? While he softly talked, he guided my hand to explore his hip bone." "I crawled closer on my knees to see it better. It was the most beautiful body part that I had seen. The tip was larger and looked kind of like a mushroom. The main part had a marbled surface like the grooves in the bark of a tree or the dimples in a very strong lean muscle. I touched it with the most reverence. I felt it a shame to kill all Americans. We should have kept them like exotic animals, so that we could look at them." "He guided me to stand up. Then, he placed his mouth on my lips. At first, I thought that he was going to eat me now. I had heard Americans ate their enemies. However, his lips were soft. Only his tongue came out to play. The feeling of the moist tongue made my heart pound. It wasn't like the earlier heavy pounding of fear. It was a rapid palpitation, something that I had never experienced before." "My whole chest was burning on the inside. I feared a heart attack. Then, dizziness set in. I had to hold onto his giant shoulders to avoid falling. Thus, my body was pulled against his. I felt his naked chest and body against mine. I felt an odd coziness like a mother nurturing a child only much more intense." "With shock, I noticed that my tongue was chasing after his tongue and responding to his tongue. It was like a natural eating reflex. The mouth knows how to chew food. In the same manner, my tongue and lips enmeshed with his. It felt as good as eating the black ball earlier. I had not expected the American devils to turn my soul so quickly. I feared that their madness had infected me already." "Eric's hands started touching all over my body. Particularly, touching my breasts felt intense. When I closed my eyes, I saw the most vivid images. I felt like prophet Mohamed having a vision. So, I must be close to a divine creature, only it was an evil American devil. Then, I realized that I would not die the death of a gun shot, but my soul would be taken from my life body." "Now, it became clear why Eric had a hip bone. He placed his hip bone, where I usually pee. And, the hip bone went deep inside of my belly. I speculated that this was perhaps how he tapped by blood to suck me dry. The other strange thing was that my urine had turned into a slick oil that made it slippery for the hip branch to come inside of me." "At this point, my soul left its body. Everything on my skin and in my body felt so delicious as if the whole joy of a lifetime was rolled into a moment. And, I turned wicked. I copied his soft bites on the neck and shoulder. The taste of his male and salty skin only drove me further wild. My body was controlled by animal instinct as it moved to meet his body. I was no longer human. I was acting like a wild dog in the heat of the day." "In a last bid for mercy to save my soul, I whispered the magic phrase of mercy into Eric's ear: 'I would like to have sex now.'" "Eric drove his hip bone only harder in my belly until my whole body spasmed under his spell. My body went limp and rigid in uncontrollable jerks. And, I felt his hip bone pumping fluid inside of me. With wet kisses on my face, Eric withdrew to sit on a box." "Like a prayer to fend of the demons, I repeated, the magic words of mercy, 'I would like to have sex now.' My whole body was wet from sweat and lying on the floor. I had not realized how physically intense the possession by the Eric demon had been." "The black woman had returned to watch the last part of Eric taking my soul. By the third time that I repeated my plea of mercy, she shrugged her shoulders just like Eric had. She pulled the army camouflage overall off her body. Her body was black everywhere. The nipples on her breasts were dark. There were so many folds on her fat body." "The black girl was apparently named a Muslim name, Fatima. She got on her knees over me. Her knees were at the side of my head. I expected her to do an American devil prayer. However, she lowered her pee opening onto my mouth. I was sure that she was going to suffocate me now. I sent my final prayer to Allah." "However, she started licking my pee opening. So, I started licking her pee opening. She seemed pleased. I tasted her bitter, sweet pale excretion in her pee opening. I smelled the stern smell of her ass and stale smell of old sweet from her butt cheeks. It was overwhelming. However, the sensation of her tongue and fingers at my pee opening was even more overwhelming. I never realized how sensitive my body there was." "Certain spots on my hip slit felt so good that I involuntarily moved my hips so that her licking and sucking tongue would hit those areas. And, then she did the same. Her hip mound kept pushing down on me. Out of nowhere, I got excited and eager to chew and suck on her pee hole. I was again possessed by an American devil." "Fatima began to scream with a guttural intensity that I had never experienced before. I could feel every cell in my body shaking from her scream. And, not only were all my cells shaking, I began to scream in the same whaling way as well. My whole body was calling out. I wondered if I had become an American now and would never be able to be a Muslim anymore." "Fatima let go off me. The other soldiers had woken from her screaming. They huddled in a circle to discuss my fate. I was just a young inexperienced eighteen year old girl lying naked, sweat covered, and stained on the cave floor." "While they talked, I silently stalked with my bare feet to the back of the cave. Like most caves, the cave went deep into the mountain far beyond the collection of stuff from the Americans. Once in the belly of the mountain, I knew that I was safe. The Americans would not follow me swiftly into the crevices of the mountain and climb across the rocks." "Perhaps, after an hour, I found another cave entrance that sent me into the free air. Outside, I grabbed a few oak leaves and cleaned my body a bit. Especially, my pee opening was covered by a white goo that I had never seen that much." "I found my unit by dawn. We crawled into the back of the American cave through the other opening. We shot them down like dogs. I took my serrated knife and severed the head from the spine of that devil Eric." "Only the powerful Imam Abu Dawood was able to purify me. However, for the rest of my life, I am spoiled for marriage. Yet, I am a hero. And, if you join the pesmerge, you may end up sacrificing like I did it. However, you can become folk heroes." Teacher Pekhat finished the presentation, "Those rockets that would have been used to clear out the American stronghold would probably have been Katyushas. Katyushas are trucks with mounted rockets. They were Russian made, very cheap and very imprecise. Katyusha trucks were the corner stones of overrunning the West. All the wonderful things that your generation has like Sharia rule, an all Muslim world, and freedom of American devils has been created mostly with Katyushas. That's why your generation is called the Katyusha generation." BACKFLASH: IMAMA ABU DAWOOD AT CONFERENCE Imam Abu Dawood looked into the rows and rows and rows of clerics. About five hundred cleric were seated on the floor. The fine clothes, the fresh pressed fabrics, and the crisp colors filled the room with formal atmosphere. Walls with delicate ornamental wood carvings lined the congregation. The ceiling towered high. The ceiling had coves and arches of a palace. Gold highlights were generously bestowed upon architecture and furniture. His hand held onto the lectern. The wood under his fingers was rosewood, rich amber hues with dark lines running through it. The wood had been laboriously stained. The gold lamp was a long tube along the entire head section of the lantern. Steady and clean LED light illuminated his speech notes. He seized up the audience. The gray big mustached man with the purple neck fabric was the foremost authority on ethical Islamic decisions. The narrow faced little man with dark rimmed glasses was the most respected Islamic researcher of Kurdistan. The audience represented the cleric elite. The speech that he had prepared was about to shatter the perceptions about the proper role of the female in prayer service. He opened his mouth. The words were familiar and rehearsed. The sound wasn't. He sounded like a croaking frog. Not even he could discern his own sounds. With a deep inhale, he sounded his head voice as strong as he could. Now, his voice cloud could reach the first three rows. The rest of the audience had dull faces that showed no reaction to his words. Despite his will, the voice sunk in volume. The sound seemed to come not from within him but next to him. His hands were shaking bitterly. He had no choice but scream above the muffling blanket as loud as he could and move on. A man in the last row got up and left. The purple neck fabric man whispered into the ear of his neighbor. Imam Abu Dawood slammed his fist on the lectern to gain attention. His eyes darting through the audience only caught glimpses of boredom or disapproval. He skipped the contentious parts of his speech. An hour later, warm, yellow light streamed into the lounge through the little holes in the ornamental wood work. The soft pillows of the bench soothed his tense muscles. His fingers were wrapped around a cup of fine china with delicate painting. The heat burned his ice cold fingers, yet radiated warmth into the cold bones. The aroma of tea and squeezed lemon drifted comfort into his nostrils. A thigh of release escaped his diaphragm. The booth next to his had four clerics in hefty discussion. The table was laden with Arabic sweet pastry. A jolly man with big cheeks slapped on the table with a boisterous laugh: "My sister." The men next to him lovingly laid the arm around the jokster. A third man with tears in his eyes from laughter leaned forward to whisper a secret. Imam Abu Dawood looked around himself. Next to his booth was a cleric, evidently from a poor rural region, standing by himself. "Would you like to join me for some tea?" "Oh, I will have to take a rain check. I am meeting up with a dear friend." The poor cleric whizzed away. Imam Abu Dawood stood up holding his tea cup and plate. He tried to posture himself relaxed with a luxurious grip on the tea cup and a warm smile on his face. He strolled around to find two clerics seemingly momentarily paused in speech to introduce himself. "Hi, my name is Imam Abu Dawood. There was so much good information today." The clerics looked at him with an empty expression. They raised a sign that hung around their neck: "We observe silence for this month. We politely ask that you do not speak to us with words or hand signals." Imam Abu Dawood bowed briefly to admit his indiscretion. Then, he caught himself that an apology was communicating as well. He swiftly walked away. STORY CONTINUES The late morning sun made everything look colorless and strained under its starting intensity. Black Bedouin tents were staked overhead high and pinned in place by guy-wire. Women in single color orange, green, or purple dresses moved around the encampment to do their chores. A goat mulled over a branch sticking out of its mouth. A five-year old boy held a bundle of branches under his arm pit. The free hand already had the next branch at the ready to feed the goat. His fist was thick with baby fed. And, his face radiated excitement about the grownup responsibility. A Bedouin woman with large, round, warped necklace and earrings carried a big tub of fabric. The boys lined up along the outside of the tent under the trees. They picked up a gray hand kerchief out of the tub. Then, they walked over to a girl and asked her for the dance. The strong Talti asked the soft, small Delal for a dance. Delal accepted with a frown and annoyed twitch of her cheek. Klaus and Abda ended up together, because they were the outsiders, the non-Kurds. Next to the bus on the parking lot, the college students formed a circle. Man and women alternated. They held each others hands indirectly by holding onto the gray handkerchief. Serchopi was the title of the person leading the dance. A tall boy started by getting the circle move sideways and then the other side. The next girl got everyone to turn in a circle while holding onto their partner. This was the traditional dance to celebrate the holiday. Kurdistan was the last country to allow dancing, let alone mixed gender dancing. The other stricter Muslim countries had banned public joviality.