by Arthur C.
“From my point of view, the utopia you and your Michaelite brethren seek can only be achieved if this imprinting process can be significantly influenced. The set of human beings alive today, for example, couldn’t achieve what you call the ‘final evolution.’ Their firmware would never allow them to accept the selflessness that’s required. Only if you can design and monitor the development process of subsequent generations do you have a chance of reaching your stated goal.”
The look in Sister Beatrice’s eyes was respectful. “Very interesting, Brother Johann,” she said. “I certainly do not agree with you that Yasin al-Kharif and others like him are a lost cause and cannot be guided into more constructive living, but my experience has definitely taught me that to change the world we must start with the children. On that point you and the Order of St. Michael are in accord. That’s why we focus so much on the very young.”
She turned inland and put her arm through Johann’s, something that she had not done in a long time. “You have an unusual way of looking at things, Brother Johann,” she said. “I still have much to learn from you.”
For a few brief moments, as he walked arm in arm with Sister Beatrice up the path toward the caves, the feeling of impending doom that had been Johann’s constant companion since Yasin’s arrival temporarily disappeared. The foreboding returned, however, when Johann saw Yasin watching them, a leer upon his face, from the top of the flat rock just outside their cave.
“So much of the history they teach in your Western schools is hopelessly inaccurate,” Yasin was saying as they finished their dinner. “When I looked at the secondary-school text-books in both England and the United States, I was absolutely flabbergasted. The cultural bias is astounding.”
“What are you talking about?” Sister Beatrice asked.
“To begin with,” Yasin said, “there is the implicit suggestion that Western civilization, loosely defined as some sort of historical continuum from Greece through Rome to Victorian England and the twentieth-century United States, is vastly superior to all other civilizations that have ever existed. My father was outraged when I returned to Medina and showed him the world-history book being used in the high schools in Texas. There was virtually no discussion of Islam at all, except where our culture interacted with the history of the Europeans.
“My father and I read that our civilization was characterized by nomadic hordes of ruthless warriors who swept on horseback across North Africa, most of Asia, and Southern Europe during the Dark Ages. There was no mention of the fact that we invented the modern number system, performed the first real astronomical observations, and supplied the words ‘algebra,’ ‘almanac,’ and ‘chemistry,’ among others, to the precious English language… What was written in that textbook was insulting.”
There was passion in Yasin’s voice. “My father taught a course in comparative history at the University of Medina. It was the best course I ever took, and not just because my father was teaching it. The thesis of the course was very simple. My father taught that all history, from Sumeria up until the emergence of the Asian powers in the middle of the twenty-first century, has essentially been a struggle for supremacy between two racial groups, one European and typified by the Aryan/Teutonic people that settled Scandinavia, England, and Germany, and the other Middle Eastern, the purest strains of which can be found in Arabia and the Levant.
“In his course my father compared the total contributions of the two races to today’s modern civilization, and reached the unmistakable conclusion that our accomplishments, especially when the Jews are properly counted among the Levantine peoples, far outweigh those of the blond, blue-eyed Nordic types usually given credit for the successes of Western Europe and the United States…”
Yasin would declaim on any subject with very little prompting. History and science were two of his favorite topics. He used a facile mixture of fact and opinion to buttress his conclusions. Sometimes Johann or Sister Beatrice would catch him in a misrepresentation, or factual error, that seemed to undermine what he was saying. But he would remain unwavering in his convictions, as if the major truth he was propounding were not dependent in any way on the supporting facts.
There weren’t many outright disputes in the discussions around the fire. Johann was not naturally argumentative in conversation. He preferred to think carefully about what he was hearing before saying very much. Despite her wealth of knowledge, Sister Beatrice was gracious to a fault. As a result, many of Yasin’s proclamations, some of which both Johann and Sister Beatrice thought to be bizarre, or even ludicrous, went unchallenged.
One evening, however, just two days after Yasin’s splint was removed and he began to move about freely, the evening discussion centered on religion. At issue was the Islamic tenet that the use of force, and even the killing of nonbelievers, if necessary, was an acceptable way to spread the word of the prophet. Yasin became angry and defensive when Sister Beatrice continued to ask probing questions and to cite historical facts that did not support his point of view.
“Yes, yes, Sister, what you are saying is true,” Yasin said at one point, “Muhammad did sanction, on a few occasions, the killing of captives after a battle between his followers and his opponents. But you have taken the historical events out of context again. Muhammad believed he had no choice. He was in desperate straits. The word of God had to be defended. His opponents were engaged in a concerted attempt to destroy him utterly, and any show of mercy would have been considered a sign of weakness.”
“Unless my knowledge of history is incorrect, Yasin,” Sister Beatrice said, “Muhammad did not just ‘sanction’ massacres ‘on a few occasions.’ Often after a battle the conquered were slaughtered mercilessly. And wasn’t it Muhammad himself who made armed conflict one of the cornerstones of Islam? Did he not say that the quickest means of entering paradise was martyrdom in a battle with infidels? Are there not passages in the Koran exhorting the faithful—”
“Hold it a minute, Sister,” Yasin interrupted imperiously, showing a flash of anger. “There’s just no way that either of you can appreciate how the individual elements of Islam are woven into the overall fabric of the religion. You are attacking one small component of our belief, without any understanding of the structure into which it all fits.”
Yasin took a deep breath before continuing. The tone in his voice was that of an adult talking to young children. “One definite problem in this discussion is that the only religion the two of you know anything about, Christianity, is essentially a feminine religion, extolling compassion, forgiveness, and monogamous marriage, as well as the sanctity of human life. These are virtues generally embraced by women.
“Islam, by contrast, is a masculine religion, with its own, different set of virtues. Spreading the faith through armed conflict, polygamy for the general benefit of the society, and a defining role for women as helpmates for men may be distasteful to you, but that does not make them wrong. What is important here is not what you or I or any specific human being thinks religion should be, but what Allah intended for those who are to worship Him. We accept that both Christ and Muhammad were His prophets, but only Muhammad, the true Messenger of God, heard Allah completely and correctly.”
“Are you suggesting, Yasin,” Sister Beatrice said, an edge in her voice, “that of the three of us, only you are able to be objective about both Islam and Christianity? I remind you that I have made religion my life study, and may well know as much about the doctrine, history, and practices of Islam as you do.”
“But you are both a woman and a Christian,” Yasin said, glancing over at Johann with a superior smirk on his face. “It’s unlikely that any amount of study would allow you to look at Islam without the prejudices that accompany your sex and religion.”
Sister Beatrice rose abruptly. She was visibly shaken. “Good night, Yasin,” she said. “I am going to bed before I become any angrier… Not since I was a teenager has anyone purposely tried to make me feel so insignificant.”
She wa
lked away from the fire. Yasin looked at Johann again and shrugged. Johann jumped up and followed Sister Beatrice into the cave.
Johann did not sleep much that night. The argument between Sister Beatrice and Yasin had heightened his sense of foreboding. Now that Yasin was healed, and no longer needed Beatrice to care for him, Johann feared that his disregard for her would become increasingly more obvious. There did not seem to be any way to avoid more clashes in the future.
In his last brief conversation with Sister Beatrice before she had lain down on her mat, Johann had sensed, for the first time, that even she was beginning to have doubts that the three of them could live in harmony in their island paradise. There may come a day, Johann thought, when she will wish that she had not nursed Yasin back to health so diligently.
13
Once Yasin was healthy, his attitude toward Sister Beatrice did indeed change. He began by belittling her devotion, including not only her prayers and meditation, but also her wearing of the robe and headpiece of the Order of St. Michael. At first his comments were fairly innocuous, usually in the guise of humor, but as time passed they became more frequent and insulting.
Sister Beatrice did not fight back. She would not even allow herself to mention that Yasin was far from rigorous in his observation of the rules of Islam. She also entreated Johann not to intercede. Although she admitted to Johann that she was hurt by Yasin’s disdain, her bigger concern was finding some way for the three of them to live together in harmony.
Yasin moved into his own cave, ostensibly so that he could have more privacy, leaving Johann and Sister Beatrice to share the large cave near the fire. Yasin spent his days in and around the storehouse, tinkering with the supplies and building whatever he thought might be needed. Johann and Beatrice had to admit that both the wheelbarrow and the large wagon Yasin constructed were extremely useful.
Yasin always showed up promptly for meals, correctly assuming that Johann and Sister Beatrice would include enough food for him in their dinner preparations. One night he announced, with great fanfare, that he had decided to design and build a house on the beach for the three of them. When neither Johann nor Beatrice showed much interest, Yasin sulked for the rest of the evening.
The nighttime discussions around the fire ceased altogether after another argument in which Yasin made it clear that he thought Sister Beatrice’s opinions were completely meaningless. Johann upbraided him for his arrogance, and some angry words were exchanged, but Beatrice managed to effect a reconciliation between the two men by suppressing her own feelings.
She started meditating after dinner as well as in the early morning. Clearly troubled by her inability to reach a compromise with Yasin that allowed her even a modicum of self-respect, Sister Beatrice turned to prayer and introspection for comfort. She tried gamely to put on a happy face when she was around either or both of the men, but Johann could tell that it was only an act. Not even singing consoled her. One evening after dinner, when the three of them had had an unusually cordial conversation, Johann asked her if she would sing a few songs for them. In the middle of her second song, she suddenly stopped and retreated to the cave. She told Johann later that Yasin had been looking at her in an “unseemly” way while she was singing.
Johann had suggested to Yasin that he should pitch in and help with the gathering of their food, but Yasin had dismissed the activity as “woman’s work.” Johann was therefore pleasantly surprised one morning when Yasin volunteered to accompany him on his twice-weekly trip to obtain food. Sister Beatrice was encouraged, telling Johann that this was the “first real sign” of Yasin’s willingness to be accommodating. The two men, each carrying one of the large baskets Beatrice had made from the thin wood strips in the storehouse, walked away from the caves together in a relaxed and easy mood.
All morning Yasin seemed genuinely interested in Johann’s lessons about harvesting the ripe fruits and berries. He even expressed real admiration when Johann gave him a tour of the farm, a cleared area of several thousand square meters not far from Johann and Beatrice’s original caves. On the farm they had planted a dozen or so rows of the principal grains that they had discovered on the island.
“So do you gather the seeds and plant them at regular intervals?” Yasin asked.
“They don’t have seeds, at least not in the way that we define them,” Johann answered. He bent down next to one particular plant. “Each kind of grain has only one specific part, which, if rooted in the ground, will grow and become a full plant. It took us a long time, and a lot of patient observation, to figure out the critical part for each plant.”
Their baskets were nearly full by midday. Yasin acknowledged that he was both tired and hungry. The two men sat on rocks beside one of the larger streams and had a leisurely lunch. They were about three fourths of the way up the mountain. From their vantage point they could see the cave formations where they lived. Beatrice was swimming in the lake not far from the caves.
“She is the strangest woman I have ever met,” Yasin said.
Johann smiled. “Sister Beatrice is amazing,” he said. “I have never met anyone even remotely like her.”
Yasin popped a couple of berries in his mouth and turned toward Johann. “I’m sorry I cramped your style by showing up, Ace,” he said with an unusual smile. “You must have really been horny before I moved into my new cave.”
Johann gave Yasin a puzzled look. “Excuse me,” he .
“Come on, Ace,” Yasin said, a lecherous grin spreading across his face, “I’m not that dumb. I’ve noticed how you and the sister look at each other.” He leaned toward Johann. “I’m dying to know if she’s a good fuck. Does she moan and thrash about, or is she as uptight during sex as she is the rest of the time?”
Johann was too stunned to reply. At first it was impossible for him to believe that he had properly heard what Yasin had said. Then Johann felt a surge of anger and his face started turning red.
Johann stood up and looked away. Yasin misinterpreted his response. “I bet she’s great,” he said. “The quiet ones usually are. Once she takes off that abominable robe, I bet she goes completely wild.”
“Shut up, Yasin,” Johann said, spinning around. His body was trembling with rage.
Yasin saw the anger in Johann’s eyes and put his hands up in front of his chest to defend himself. “Simmer down, Ace,” he said. “No need to come unglued… I was just wondering. You know, here we are, two guys on an island with one bizarre bitch. It’s only natural that I—”
“For your information,” Johann suddenly blurted without thinking, “Sister Beatrice and I are not lovers… Her religious order requires a vow of chastity and she has remained committed—”
Johann stopped himself. Already he wished that he had not said so much. He picked up his basket. “Let’s go,” he said, avoiding Yasin’s eyes.
Dammit and double dammit, Johann was thinking as he led Yasin rapidly down the path toward the caves. I do not trust that son of a bitch. I should have let him believe that Beatrice and I are lovers.
Johann was exasperated. Sister Beatrice would not take his warnings seriously. They were lying on their mats in the cave and whispering back and forth.
“Surely you don’t believe, Brother Johann,” she said, “that Yasin would try to force himself upon me. He has never given the slightest indication…”
Johann’s whisper was charged with emotion. “He has been convicted of assaulting five women,” he said. “God knows how many others he may have attacked… I’m telling you, Sister Beatrice, I saw it in his eyes when he asked me if you were ‘a good fuck.’ He wants to have sex with you, and would rape you if he thought he could get away with it.”
“Brother Johann,” she said after a long silence, “isn’t it possible that you’re overreacting? Or perhaps you’re jealous, or feeling guilty, because of what we almost did. You could be transposing what you’re feeling to Yasin… I admit that his questions about us were awful, but Yasin is a crude person, and what he s
aid to you is not out of keeping with his nature.”
“Spare me the amateur psychology,” Johann said sharply. “I know what I saw, and what I heard. If you’re such a trusting fool that you choose to ignore what I’m telling you—”
“I don’t like it when you call me names, Brother Johann,” Beatrice said. “I think it’s time to end this conversation… Good night and sweet dreams.”
Neither Johann nor Yasin mentioned their discussion again. In the days that followed, Yasin stopped insulting Beatrice so much. He also accompanied Johann on two more food-gathering treks and even made a couple of new, larger baskets to replace the original ones.
Sister Beatrice cited Yasin’s improved behavior as evidence of his new, more congenial outlook. Johann admitted that their companion’s attitude had apparently changed, but his basic distrust of Yasin remained.
Johann’s schedule during this time was completely predictable. Every morning he swam for at least half an hour. Every fifth day he extended his swim and stayed in the water for over an hour. Several weeks later, on a day when he was planning to make an extra-long swim, he had a peculiar, uneasy feeling when he plunged into the lake at dawn.
Usually, when he was breathing while swimming, Johann was not conscious of looking at anything. He would be aware that the island scenery was there when he breathed on one side, and that the lake stretched endlessly into the distance on the other, but he never really looked at anything specific. On this particular morning, however, he found himself searching the island shore while he was breathing on the right side. Over a period of thirty seconds or so, covering half a dozen breaths on each side, Johann was certain he saw Yasin staring at him from the outcropping of rocks above the cave formations.
Johann puzzled about what he had seen as he continued to swim. Yasin was a notorious late sleeper. They hardly ever saw him until just before breakfast, after Johann was finished swimming and Sister Beatrice had completed her morning meditation. Johann looked again at the outcropping. Yasin had gone. Had he imagined that he had seen him? No, he had definitely seen Yasin five or six times. But why was he awake so early? And why was he standing there watching Johann swim?
