I showed her what a woman’s place is. She’s never said a word to me again, but her eyes tell me enough. Ha. I laugh at her.
I bet it’s she who has persuaded Zekeriya to leave the brotherhood. She would, with her poisonous tongue. She can expect something from me too. But my priority is Zekeriya. He is, after all, a good Muslim. I know he prays at the little mosque we passed on our way here, an old Byzantine church with its typical flat dome. No better place to be reminded of our superiority. Yes, he’s a good Muslim all right.
There he is. Look at him, wringing his hands by the door. He clearly doesn’t want to let us in, but of course he will. What’s he saying? Oh, his oldest daughter came home today. She’s in her first year at university. Just finished her first term. They were about to sit down for a special meal.
No, don’t worry, we won’t join. In fact, we won’t be long. Tell your womenfolk to eat. I’ll have a little word with them later, but you don’t need to know that.
On our way to the living room, past the kitchen, I catch a glance of his wife. Her frown makes me smile.
Yes, Zekeriya, shut the door behind us.
Bang!
Ha. He didn’t expect that. I must say, my assistant does a great chop. It always takes them by surprise. Poor Zekeriya. On his knees. I bet it’s all black before his eyes. He’s not moving while my assistant ties his hands behind his back, but I can see he’s coming to. Time for me to examine the bookcase. What have we got here... wise sayings of the Prophet, may God’s blessing be upon Him. Wise sayings of the Prophet Jesus. More wise sayings. Ah, and now he’s about to say something himself. Time for me to leave.
Through the door I hear his surprised yelp.
“Hey, what is this... all... about?” The last words he whispers, because the kid has put a knife on his midriff. I know. We’ve been through this routine before. The sun must be reflecting on the blade as he presses its sharp tip through Zekeriya’s clothes. Very gently at first. Then he’ll twist it slowly. A hole in Zekeriya’s sweater. It looked new. Perhaps he’s wearing it for his daughter.
I’ll check out the ladies in the kitchen.
Hmmm. No daughter in sight. Where is she? Gone to visit a friend, says the bitch. Too bad. But I must concentrate on what I’m here for. I pick up an ashtray and some matches. That’s all right, isn’t it? Of course it is. I knew it. No. No tea yet. See you later.
Poor Zekeriya. He looks at me with such hope when I enter the room again. He’s trying to move away from my assistant’s hand, but it follows him, keeping the knife firmly in place. I wonder if he has already pierced his skin. I see no blood yet.
“If I push up...” he hisses, and pushes, “I could pierce your heart. Open your mouth.”
“Please,” Zekeriya says, looking at me. I smile back, while my assistant stuffs a rag into his mouth. He always carries a piece of towel in his bag. You never know what you might need it for.
Ah, that assistant of mine is so fast! I hadn’t even seen Zekeriya move — perhaps his shoulder is in pain — but there it is. His hand shot at the knife and with lightning speed stuck its tip in Zekeriya’s nostril. Muffled sounds. Fast breathing. His tongue must be bone dry. He’s getting scared. Good.
“Get up.”
My assistant doesn’t help him. He pulls up his legs and rolls over onto his face. Now he can smell whether his wife cleans the carpet properly or not. I feel like kicking that chubby ass up in the air there. Instead I tell him to sit down on the chair my assistant has placed in the middle of the room. Meekly he does so, and then he gives me that begging look again. I smile. He makes a sound and widens his eyes.
Ah, it’s the knife he sees coming. My assistant slashes downward, rips straight through his sweater. This time his skin bursts. The cut isn’t terribly deep. It might not even hurt. It will though, just you wait. I’ve lit a cigarette and I wave it under his nose. He doesn’t smoke, I know, but he recoils because he can feel the heat of the red cone. I like this bit.
He tries to move further away from me as I confront him with his betrayal. Don’t you know, I ask him, that you can never leave the brotherhood? And I stab the cigarette butt onto his chest, on the edge of his bare nipple.
His howl triggers my assistant. The tip of the dagger immediately on the stretched upper lip. Zekeriya closes his eyes.
Oh, come on, stay with it! Aren’t you listening? I plant the red-hot stab in his ear and I can see his eyes water. And look at those swollen veins on his throat. That’s a scream that wants to come out. Good boy, he’s not uttering a sound. Ooops. But he nods.
The glistening blade slides upwards on his lip; its cutting edge touches the cartilage between his nostrils. My young friend is clearly angry too, and I inform Zekeriya of this unfortunate fact.
My assistant nods to the rhythm of the loud jingle from the truck that sells propane tanks. It’s a rather funny sight. The amplified tune penetrates the room. I bet it always comes around the same time. Must be one of the rare neighborhoods that don’t have natural gas yet. I hear a voice call out to the street — the woman next door? I wonder if she hears anything going on in this living room. The thought excites me. Someone calls the elevator. Must be the truck driver’s boy. With a squeak it departs from the floor we’re on.
What’s that smell? Faintly metallic, familiar...
Ah. Blood. My assistant is getting carried away. It trickles all over Zekeriya’s front, onto the carpet. That stain will always be there for him to remember. Ah, blood on rugs. No way to get it out.
I tell Zekeriya I am thinking about letting my assistant cut off his nose for setting such a bad example in the eyes of the community, especially the youngsters. I love the way his eyes widen. Suddenly I think of my father. I shudder. I want to shake off his image.
Zekeriya gags. He can’t stand blood either. I lift my hand, and my assistant takes the knife away. Zekeriya’s gaze turns to a picture on the end table. His parents. I strike. I hit him so hard he falls over onto his side, chair and all. Bang! That bloody, filthy little prick! He infuriates me! I remember going to his petty stationery shop to invite him over. I sweet-talked him, told him about making the world a better place. I sent customers to him, to prove that God’s brotherhood does good. And now that his business is going well he wants to back out, the selfish coward. He couldn’t stand to share his wealth? Didn’t want to help out the odd apprentice we sent him? Or, ah yes, I remember, he reminded us once that there is no force in Islam, only persuasion. Ha! I’ll teach him what persuasion is. I kick him in his stomach. He pulls up his legs. I kick his shin with the ball of my foot, a little trick I learned from my father. Maximum effect without shoes.
Zekeriya moans.
My assistant is quick to silence him, but... what’s that? I hear shuffling on the other side of the door. There’s a soft knock. We all look up. Is it the wife?
I open the door with a creak. Look at that. A boy, bringing a tray with tea. Thank you, and now get lost. Oh, you want a little peep? I allow him a glimpse before I shut the door. No harm in educating the young.
I tell my assistant to put Zekeriya upright again and give him his tea. I watch as he undoes the gag and pours the scalding liquid into the man’s mouth. Zekeriya squeaks. What a brilliant idea it was, that tea, whoever thought of it.
I ask him if he will continue depriving us of his contributions and company. He whispers something that I can’t understand. I slap him in the face. I notice his eyes go to the door, he must have heard something. With one jump I’m there, while he tries to shout, “No!” through the rag in his mouth.