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Novels - |
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Stories & Studies - |
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Wednesday
17th July 2002
Muhammad
Malouf felt the finger of God touch his right foot.
It
was a vast gentle touch, warm but strong like the tip of a
great finger. He hadn't known it, but now he knew what God's
touch felt like, and tears of gratitude were in his eyes.
Looking
up, he saw that the queue had moved on.
He
walked forward four shuffling steps. God was with him. God
even directed him in little things such as this. Gently reminding
him to close up the line before somebody slipped past him
and so delayed God's work. He felt humbled and exalted to
be chosen as God's holy instrument.
God
had first come to him, he thought, just four nights ago, shortly
after midnight. Before that he'd known nothing, he'd been
as a child.
First
he had felt the intimate shocking touch in his hands and in
his feet, waking him from his sleep. In the darkness he felt
it, a touch, a brushing. It was clear and unexplainable so
that his scalp prickled with fear. "Who's there?" he called
out. Then that first glow of fulfilment. Be not afraid it
seemed to soothe him, unvoiced, a flood of pure feeling, be
not afraid - rich reward - wonderment.
Again
the next night, the same thing happened. God came to him and
touched him, but said nothing.
Then
again on the third night, and he called out in fear "What
do you want of me?" but again there was no answer. What was
God asking of him? He'd even been worried that he was ill
in the mind with some sickness. He smiled to himself now at
this memory.
The
dogs had barked outside each night, he remembered, and wouldn't
be hushed. His father had said it was intruders, two men,
he'd seen them. But now Muhammad knew better. The dogs hadn't
barked at the intruders, they'd barked fearing the immanent
presence of God.
The
next day the two travelling holy men, the elders, had come
to him. They'd been told by God to come and find him - him,
Muhammad Malouf, and nobody else. To instruct him in the task
that God had set for him.
He'd
been chosen.
They
had walked into his father's farm, striding serenely out of
the dawn over the dry ground, seeming to materialise from
out of the very swirls of morning mist as the rising sun sucked
in the night time dew. They called to him. When he heard them
coming towards him, and that they spoke his name, his heart
opened to them as when God had spoken in the night. He felt
a flood of love and happiness at the sight of them.
They
had come to him just yesterday, no longer ago than that, and
yet his world was transformed.
They
seemed to know that God was speaking to him. They knew that
God had spoken to him each night for the previous three nights.
They had understood how that indescribable glow of warmth
and happiness had flooded without reason through his heart
and mind. They knew when it happened to him. Because of this,
he loved them - beyond his brothers, beyond his father - he
loved them.
They
had instructed him in what God required of him.
ooOoo
Yesterday
he had walked south, from Al Arroub, and this morning he was
waiting with a hundred others in the early morning crowd at
the military checkpoint to enter the settlement area.
He
could see the barbed wire and concrete, and two IDF soldiers
looking out at the waiting crowd with hard eyes, their rifles
ready. He gazed at one helmeted head with the dark sunglasses.
I'm
not a fool, he thought. I'm 14 years old and a man, and I
was educated in the big UNWRA School near Al Arroub. I know
that God has put a soul into the body of that soldier too.
But all the same, if he finds the bomb he must die. God is
not with him, and he must die.
But
God will guide me. I have to go to the centre of the town,
into the crowded shops, before I die and enter paradise. The
wise elders explained this to me and told me the route I was
to take, as they strapped the explosives to my body. High
on my chest, fixed to my back at my waist and low in my loins
so that they don't make a bulge. That way they will remain
hidden.
He
felt hot under his clothes, however, and he moved heavily.
He
remembered how lovingly they had adjusting one charge behind
his neck, just under his skull. He was happy to know it. He
did not want to live on paralysed or maimed if something went
wrong. They had explained this. This way he was either alive,
or he was dead - nothing in between.
He
walked forward again, his right hand hovering near his chest
where the two exposed wires lay, just under his shirt. Just
one touch, he thought with amazement, just one touch and the
world explodes, and I die. God is Great.
He
was at the barrier now.
Holding
his head low he handed his papers into the grasp of the IDF
guard.
"Muhammad
Malouf", he mumbled.
"Why
do you go into the town?"
"To
buy supplies. My father needs seeds and fresh vegetables."
"But
you can buy those at", he paused to glance at the papers in
his hand, "at any of the villages around Al Arroub. That's
where you come from isn't it?"
"My
father told me to go to the town."
"Go
and buy your seeds and vegetables at Al Arroub."
"My
father told me to go to the town."
The
soldier grunted a remark about ignorant peasants under his
breath, and checked Muhammad's bag. Impatiently he waved him
through.
Muhammad
had not been anxious that the soldier might find the explosives.
He
knew God was guiding him and he submitted to the will of God.
If God had decreed that it was this soldier who was to die
with him, so be it.
He
walked through the barrier.
Kiryat
Arba, the first renewed Jewish community in Judea and Samaria,
home to more than 6,000 Jews, and an occupied Israeli fortress
deep in enemy territory.
ooOoo
Two
men followed Muhammad through the checkpoint.
They
were dressed and looked like Palestinians, and Muhammad would
have recognised them as the two wise elders who had armed
him for God's task.
He
would have been surprised to hear them talking now.
Instead
of the strangely accented Arabic that Muhammad had noticed
and been unable to place, they were talking American English,
quietly and professionally.
America?
That hated bullying power behind the Israeli oppressors?
But
they took care to stay well back so that he wouldn't see them.
"OK.
He's on track."
"Will
he do it himself?" wondered the taller of the two men.
The
other man shrugged indifferently. "You have the abort key."
Without thinking he moved his hand on the small device hidden
in his clothing, and touched the 'reward' key lightly. In
the distance he saw Muhammad's shoulders straighten and his
chin go up as he strode on with renewed vigour.
One
click, he thought. It had been that easy to make the boy love
them. For three nights in a row they had 'rewarded' him, mimicking
the bible story of the boy Samuel. Then, when they approached
him out of the mist the next morning, as they called out his
name, he had clicked the reward key one more time and the
boy had loved and trusted them.
"Yes,
but it's interesting to see", the tall man persisted. "Can
he really bring himself to die, to touch the wires together,
or will we have to do it for him?"
The
other man shrugged again, not interested in, or possibly not
comfortable with this line of speculation.
There
were two separate devices, they both knew.
The
shorter man had the guidance device, a neat palm-held fixed
frequency radio transmitter with 16 touch buttons allowing
him to select any of the 16 places on Muhammad's body that
he could stimulate, plus the 'reward' button that gave the
pleasure.
The
taller man carried the abort device. This was a separate radio
transmitter with a firing button and a safety switch. With
that he could fire the detonators on Muhammad's body independently
of Muhammad. This was provided partly as a back up in case
the carrier's nerve failed at the last moment, but mainly
in case they needed to abort the mission and destroy the evidence.
The charge under the boy's skull would blast upwards, smashing
his skull and anything in it to unrecognisable pulp and debris.
They
followed quietly, keeping their distance at about 200 yards,
well within transmitter range but well out of the way.
ooOoo
As
the wise men had instructed him, Muhammad had gone first through
the residential area south of Harsina, cutting south of west
through the complex of smaller streets. Rich houses they seemed
to his eyes, houses of the hated enemy, neat and clean. They
were painted in pretty pastel colours and had neat lawns and
flowers. He thought of his village. Concrete piled on concrete,
house piled on house, and rubbish piled in the narrow alleys.
The
sun was hot on his forehead and he felt strong. A moment ago
he had felt again the blessing, flooding through his soul,
and he'd straightened his back and lengthened his stride,
eager to do God's will. He thought how his father would be
proud of him, and how his mother would weep but be happy,
knowing he was in paradise.
God
was with him. The dust smelt of holy fire and cinnamon, and
he strode past the small neat houses of the enemy disdainfully.
The
sun shone and it was hot, with a fierce dry heat.
He
reached the shopping centre and mingled with the crowds, heading
for the big expensive department store as he'd been told.
It would be crowded with the enemy at this time, mostly women
and children, they had told him. It was a fitting place to
do God's work.
He
paused.
There
was an armed IDF soldier standing at the door watching the
people going in. He waited. He was confident and patient.
God would provide.
He
saw a larger group of women approaching the store, talking
together and laughing. One held a toddler in her arms who
was really big enough to walk. Would these do?
Yes,
he'd known it was to be this group. Just as the group passed
him, he felt the soft tap-tap on his shoulder - the warm friendly
touch of God.
Ducking
his head slightly, he slipped in amongst the women and skipped
through the door. He was inside the fortress of the invading
enemy - a spy and an avenger. Now to find the biggest group
so as to do the most killing, quickly before anyone found
him.
He
felt again the warm guiding touch, in his side this time,
and he threaded his way through the strolling crowds. Quickly,
quickly. He was guided to a big group watching something and
some person talking. Telling them something. To buy something.
People
turned and stared at him as he thrust his way into the thickest
part of the crowd, and he heard shouts behind him.
They
were afraid. He could sense it. He didn't fit in. He was a
ragged boy amongst smartly dressed suburbia. He was dangerous.
Deep
in the densest part, close up against a fat woman holding
her baby, he cried out aloud. Straightening himself high at
last, he shouted at the top of his voice.
He
did not need the warm touch on his right hand.
Yes,
God, I'm coming.
I'm
coming now.
He
reached into his clothes at his chest and grasped the two
pieces of wire.
As
he clamped them together with his fingers, the world was suddenly
a crash of cymbals and piercing flame of glory. The reward
flooded through him in burning ecstasy. Oh God, I come...
- from 'The Whetstone
Scenario' - Copyright © David Caldo 2006
All Rights Reserved
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