by H M Sealey
Alaia turned with a look of open alarm on her face as he joined her in the silent room.
“You can’t come in here! It is forbidden.”
“Alaia, I told you, nothing is forbidden tonight.” He approached her again, only this tine there was nowhere to run. “Do you know, over the border, they no longer know who is male and who is female. They live sorry, confused existences. When we conquer them, it will be a mercy. We will kill the men and enslave the women, then they will know what sex they are once more.”
Tariq cornered her against the sink, his eyes star-bright with lust. “You have to relax, forget what is haraam for once.”
“What is haraam does not stop being haraam just because nobody sees.” She said hotly. Tariq laughed.
“You’re so beautiful. So lovely. I can’t help wanting to tear your hijab from you and see what I will see on our wedding night.”
Alaia shook her head more forcefully. “It is forbidden!” She said again. Islamic law might well prove useful to her for once.
“No.” Tariq stretched out both hands and took her face gently between them, his fingers sliding beneath her scarf. “It’s not.”
Alaia tried to pull away but Tariq wrenched her hijab away from her head, revealing her close-cropped hair. Abdullah’s hair.
Tariq stopped what he intended and stepped back in surprise. He had assumed her hair would be long, a thick canopy of black over her face and shoulders, longing to be touched.
“Alaia?”
Alaia tried to replace her Hijab but he grabbed her arm and pulled it away from her face.
“Leave it!” He ordered, staring into her eyes, recognising the peculiar, silent boy whom he had taught at the Madrasah for six years.
“Is this some sort of game?”
She shook her head, much of her fire was gone. “N – no.”
“You’re Abdullah? You dress as a man? You do the most dishonourable thing they do in Old Britain? Revile their creator.”
Tears began to squeeze, unbidden, from her eyes. Would he ever understand?
“I just…..I just wanted to learn.” She could lie, she could claim she attended his classes because she was secretly in love with him. But even Tariq ibn-Jack was not narcissistic enough to believe that.
He caught her by both wrists and hauled her forwards until her nose was almost touching his.
“You realise you could be lashed for this! Imprisoned even?”
She nodded, trembling.
“You’re a fool!”
Alaia’s eyes took on a bolder light.
“The man who did not recognise the woman he wants to marry in his own classroom. They will call you the fool!”
He slapped her hard.
“They’ll call you a whore!”
“Then I will be an educated whore!”
In a sudden moment of aggression, Tariq lunged forwards, seized Alaia by her shoulders and pulled her into his arms. He pressed his mouth over hers, his hands gripping her body, his tongue prising open her lips with the force of his kiss.
Then he released her.
“Get your hijab back on before anyone sees you!” He commanded, running his tongue over his lips where her taste was still in his mouth. “And here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to beg your father to marry me.”
Alaia shook her head. “No.”
He grabbed her again, this time around the waist. “Yes you are. Otherwise I’m going to hand you and your whole family over to the Mutaween. Your father must know about your little tricks.”
“My father knows nothing about it!”
“So you deceive your father too. I don’t think you realise quite how much trouble you’re in.”
He kissed her with even more force than before, pushing her against the wall, his hands began to pull back the layers of clothing she wore seeking flesh.
“Stop it!”
“I know you don’t care about what’s haraam and what isn’t.” His breathed into her ear, fumbling beneath her dress. “So you can drop the act and be a whore for me right now.”
Dai threw the door open, silent in his niqab but enough of a distraction to stop Tariq’s assault. Tariq didn’t finish at once though, for a few moments he kept his fingers where they were, buried in soft, young flesh. Flesh that would soon belong to him.
Without urgency, Tariq pulled away from the crying girl and allowed her to rearrange her hijab, hiding her other life expertly beneath the cloth.
“Come on then.” He said with a thin, sly smile. The smile of a predator toying with its prey. What he wanted would wait, and when he took it, it would be sweeter than pineapple. “Let’s go and watch the rest of the auction.”
He took her arm with a firm hand and marched her out of the bathroom. Dai, impotent and furious, tried to catch Alaia’s eye, but she looked away, her face red with humiliation, her body shaking with fury she was unable to release.
Tariq escorted her near to the stage, never taking his arm from hers. He owned her now and he didn’t care who knew it. Dai came as close to her other side as he could, wishing he could beat Tariq until he was sure the man would never be capable of assaulting another girl ever again. Dai found her fingers with his and squeezed, trying to communicate all of his affection and concern for her in one tiny action.
They both watched as the next girl was brought out. This one was a redhead, her curls brushing her slim neck, blue eyes wide and terrified set in a pale face dusted with freckles. Beneath his niqab Dai’s anger at Tariq was forgotten and he stared in disbelief and horror as Elsie Kessler stood alone and vulnerable on the stage like a dancer anticipating her moves.
Alaia felt him tense at her side so suddenly that she turned and gazed into his eyes, deliberately ignoring Tariq’s grip on her arm that was beginning to hurt it was so tight.
“Are you all right Ayaan?”
He couldn’t nod. He couldn’t do anything. He just stared, dumbfounded. Why was Elsie here? How was it possible? He hadn’t seen her since she gave him food and hugged him goodbye in their old den. Had there been another Wolf raid?
“Ayaan?”
He bolted. He ran back into the bathroom where few people would follow. There he threw himself down over the sink as Alaia had done.
Alaia tried to follow, but Tariq held her tightly.
“Please!” She said. “Let me see what’s wrong with my friend!” And her voice was so fierce Tariq actually backed down.
“Go then.” He whispered into her ear. “But remember I know your secrets.”
“I know.” She agreed, struggling to escape his clutches.
Tariq pulled her close and kissed her the way western men kissed their whores all around. Then he released her. “Later, you can show me what other secrets you have.” He promised, patting her backside as she finally fled, following Dai back to the bathroom.
“Oh God! No. Elsie! Please!” Dai raised his head to the ceiling and pleaded with any god who might exist. “Not Elsie.”
“Who’s Elsie?” Alaia joined him, concern painted over her face. Beneath the fabric Dai sobbed.
“Elsie is….she’s Missy’s best friend. She’s my friend. She had a crush on me when we were kids, followed me round like a puppy-dog. We teach in the same school. She’s just so….so innocent. She still believed in the tooth fairy until she was thirteen. She shouldn’t be here.”
He drew back his fist and slammed it into the mirror and barely noticed that the cracking sound was his knuckles, not the glass.
“Can you help her?” Alaia asked.
“How can I? I might not have enough money to help Missy, if she’s here. Even with your father and uncle’s help. What do I do Alaia?”
Alaia frowned with concentration. She had an idea although it was not one she liked.
“I could ask Tariq to buy her. Then we could find a way to get her away as well.”
Dai turned to Alaia, surprised at the offer. “Would you? After what he was doing to you earlier? Bastard.”
<
br /> Alaia shrugged off the memory of Tariq’s assault. “That doesn’t matter right now, I’m leaving anyway, so he’ll never get what he wants from me. But if Tariq wants to spend his money on human flesh he can do some good at the same time.”
“I wanted to kill him.” Dai admitted.
“So did I. It’s stupid, but I didn’t realise how safe I felt in my hijab until Tariq removed it. Then I felt so exposed. Naked even. It’s only a piece of fabric and I don’t want to wear it….but….it should be my choice. That’s why I hate it, because without it I know I would be treated the way Tariq just treated me…...” Alaia gave a sudden sob and Dai pulled her into his arms.
“It’s okay.”
“Is that what men are like without Shariah to restrain them?” Alaia sniffed, her body trembling as she finally released the frustration and resentment Tariq had provoked within her. Dai held her tightly.
“A religious law can’t stop evil people being evil.” He told her. “And it can’t stop good people being good. I think it’s deeper than that. Alaia, there are predators in every sort of culture, but it doesn’t mean you have to stay hiding in your nest forever. Don’t let one evil man put you off the rest of the human race.” He lifted her face very gently and gazed into her eyes. “Some of us would never, never hurt you.” He told her, lightly touching her lips with his in a moment of tenderness.
Dai’s eyes calmed the fears within Alaia and she felt the emotional storm abate. Finally she stepped away from him, took a long, deep breath, and gathered her resolve.
“Come on now,” She took Dai’s hand, “Before someone else buys your friend.”
They returned to Tariq’s side and the smoky, aggressive atmosphere, each shaking slightly. Elsie was still on stage, a pale bird surrounded by hungry cats, unable to fly away. Numbered and plucked and packaged to be sold for her flesh while still alive.
“Sayyid?” Alaia laced her voice with the respect she had learned to show to men over her life. She did not touch him again though, that would be like touching a snake.
Tariq didn’t respond, his eyes were fixed on the girl on stage.
“Sayyid?” Alaia spoke again. Tariq still didn’t turn and look at her.
“I need to know who that girl is.” He said, his gaze ignoring every other occupant of the room. “I have to know.”
To Alaia’s surprise he actually pushed her to one side and strode across the room with a purposeful gait, weaving through the tables of laughing faces. Laughing. There were terrified girls being sold like slabs of meat and these people were laughing. Weren’t they human?
Alaia followed him. Nobody told her she couldn’t. The red-headed girl was Daichi’s friend, and therefore Alaia already felt some sort of responsibility towards that poor, lost creature.
Tariq reached the man in a dark suit who stood with a tablet in his hands, noting the level of interest in each girl and how many bids she was acquiring. He was engrossed in his calculations and didn’t notice Tariq until the man was at his shoulder.
“Number sixty-three.” Tariq demanded, switching to English. “Who is she?”
The man looked at Tariq and grinned. “The redhead? Good choice. You want to place a bid? You’re meant to do it through the card on your table. It’s not a meatmarket.”
Tariq looked flustered. Alaia had sat through many of his lessons and never seen him flustered before.
“I just want to know her name.”
“Isn’t her name anything you want it to be? We strip them of their names. Best they start afresh with a new identity.”
Tariq made a grab for his lapels and pulled him close with a jolt, his aggressive action surprising both Alaia and the other onlookers who stopped their own conversations and turned with interest. Men did fight sometimes, over prices usually, especially when they were drunk.
“Just tell me her name.”
“I – I’m not sure of her name. Let me check my records.”
The man’s swift fingers opened a document on his tablet and scrolled down, matching a number and appearance with a name. “Right, she’s Elsie Kessler.”
“Kessler?” Tariq turned and stared again at the girl. “Where did you get her?”
“She was one of a batch brought in a couple of days ago.”
“You must have more details than that. Where was she born? How old is she?”
The man located the information he had been given from the hospital. “She’s Twenty-four. Birthday’s the thirteenth of March. Born in Bristol. Chose Assisted Suicide after a car accident. That’s why she has a few superficial injuries – they’re nothing much, no reason to take a lower price. That’s all I know.”
Tariq released the man and seemed to be drawn forwards, like a man hypnotised.
“Her – her name was Rachael.” He said, his voice peculiarly soft. “But Susanna called her El.”
He turned sharply to the man with the tablet.
“Let her go. Now.”
“Excuse me? If you like her, buy her.”
Tariq’s arm shot forwards and his big hand curled around the man’s throat. He dropped the tablet.
“Let. Her. Go!”
“Get off!”
Tariq shook him as if he was an old coat. He was a big man, bulky with thick muscles beneath his thawb. The trader was smaller, slight and clearly outclassed.
“Hey!”
An old man leapt up from another table across the room and hurried across the room.
“What do you think you’re doing? Get off him. This is an honest man doing an honest day’s work.”
Tariq did not release the trader’s neck.
“I’ll release him the moment he lets my daughter go.” He said.
~
~ Nineteen ~
Alaia
Tariq thrust the trader away from him so forcefully the man crashed into one of the tables, overbalanced, and fell clattering to the floor, the chair legs entangled with his own.
“That’s my daughter!” Tariq’s voice was quite different. There was a new sort of threat in his tone now. “I haven’t seen her since she was three, but she’s the image of her mother.”
By now Baraq had joined them. His face, Alaia thought, was peculiarly intense. His eyes were on the girl on the stage too.
“You’re sure?”
“Same date and place of birth. Same surname. It’s Rachael.” He turned on the trader. “I want her out of here.”
The trader dabbed his lip where he had cut it. “I told you you can buy her.” Then, realising there was something dangerous about this man, quashed the hostility in his voice. “I’ll set a fair price. I bought her fair and square.”
The old man helped the trader up. “There Zeb, that was quite a tumble.”
“I’m fine.” Zeb muttered. “Just trying to earn an honest living.”
“Of course you are.” The old man dusted him down with his handkerchief. “Now, as it so happens I have a friend interested in purchasing that particular piece of merchandise -”
“She’s my daughter!” Tariq’s punch was sudden and unexpected. “She’s not merchandise!”
By now the confrontation had drawn a great deal of attention. The old man was not badly injured but lay, splayed out on the carpet, stunned.
“Security!” Zeb began to shout. “Get security! These bloody savages don’t know how to behave in decent company!”
Baraq’s hand rested on his shoulder.
“There’s no need for that.” He said quietly. “We’ll pay your price.”
“I don’t want her sold!” Tariq’s face was eaten up by both anger and indignation. “She’s my little girl.”
“They’re all somebody’s little girl.” Baraq said in a soft, sad voice. “Every one of them.”
Taraq fell back a little, shaking with emotions he had not felt for some time. He gazed up at the stage. Elsie was watching them, big eyes wide with terror.
Taraq thrust his way through the crowd and clambered up towards the startled
girl. He held out his hands towards her and she stumbled backwards.
“It’s all right.” Tariq tried to calm her. “Rachael, I’m your father. Your dad.”
“I’m…..I’m not called Rachael.”
“But you’re Susanna Kessler’s daughter?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
Tariq threw back his head. “Al-Hamdu lillah! Praise be to Allah that I’ve found you!”
“I….I don’t understand.”
Tariq took her hand, she trembled beneath his touch, this big, bearded man with wild eyes and clothing so unlike any man she’d ever met.
“I – I made mistakes Rachael. I killed a man. I drank too much. I hurt your mother, may Allah forgive me. I was extradited to the BSI to be made an example of, but I converted. I never saw you, or your brother or even my own mother again. But you have no idea how much I wanted to apologise for what I did.” Tears rolled down his face. “I dreamed I’d find you one day. I just….I never thought it would be here.”
Elsie didn’t move, her eyes scanned the crowd and once again fell on Kit Summerday’s face. Why wasn’t he helping her? Why wasn’t he the one leaping to her defence?”
Taraq took both her hands and began leading her to the edge of the stage.
“I’m taking you home.” He told her.
“H – home?” Where was home? She had no home. Nothing left of her own. Just like the first time. But back then she had Gran. “I don’t have a home….only Gran.”
“Gran?” He queried the word. “Susanna’s mother was dead…..do you mean my mother, Barbara?”
Elsie swayed on her feet, still so lost and frightened. “Yes….Barbara, Bibi Kessler...” She screwed up her face. “She died. She was….breaking the law….I don’t have a home any more.”
Tariq steadied her with his big arms. “My home will be your home.” He told her. “I will teach you about the true religion.” He promised. “You won’t be abed.”
Zeb, placated slightly by Baraq, was still unhappy.
“You can’t just take her.”
