The Matriarch Matrix

by Maxime Trencavel

  The lavatory door opens, not so gently, and Zara comes out freshened up and ready to throw another verbal spar at Peter. “I washed my feet, so you will not need to tell me they smell.”

  She retakes her seat and taps her MoxWrap, and a map of the region comes up on a screen. “Let us review the latest intel on what is happening around our target. When the AC, the Arabic Confederation, united the fragmented elements of Syria and Iraq in early 2018, they agreed to the formation of a Kurdish nation in the northern regions of Syria and Iraq. However, earlier this month, for some reason, they transgressed the Euphrates and took Kobanî, Sarrin, and the mountains surrounding them. As you can see, this position is about sixty kilometers southwest from Sanliurfa, which is the birthplace of the Prophet Ibrahim, a very beautiful city with historic ruins, mosques, and the Balıklıgöl, the legendary Pool of Sacred Fish.”

  Zara points out areas around the city. “The Turks control the area immediately surrounding the city. The Anatolian Kurds control this mountain range forty kilometers to the east of where Göbekli Tepe sits. As the Turks withdrew half of their main battle tanks to strike the Kurdish capital yesterday morning, the Arabic Confederation launched major attacks here, crossing the Euphrates just west of Nizip, which they took yesterday, and here, crossing the Turkish border from Kobanî. MoxWorld News military analysts believe they are planning a pincer movement to cut off the Turkish troops from supplies from the north while they drive their main attack from the south. We have special permission to land directly in Sanliurfa. Given the Arabic Confederation invasion, many evacuations and relief aid flights are coming in and out of this airport. We are carrying a supply of rare antibiotics as part of our relief cover.”

  Pointing to the areas southwest of Sanliurfa, Zara explains, “These areas are controlled by the Turkish armies. MoxWorld intel predicts the AC should be outside the city within nine to ten days. The new Anatolian Kurdish State controls this mountain range towards the northwest, but like the Turks, they have insufficient forces here as they too moved their limited military north to defend their main cities from Turkish attack.”

  Peter asks, “Why are the Turks not working with the Kurds and joining to counterattack the AC from both their positions?”

  “Peter, you have to understand, everyone is against the Kurds. After several hundred years of Kurdish provincial rule, the Ottomans were the first in a long history to systematically displace or eliminate the Kurds using brutal techniques of scorched earth, massacres, mutilations, torture, and terror. With the dissolution of the Ottoman Empire in World War I, the Western powers promised a Kurdish nation to gain the help of the Kurds in fighting the Turks. And as has happened many times since, the Westerners reneged on their promise, leaving the Kurds to fend for themselves. And then the Turks have suppressed our culture since 1925, likewise Assad in Syria, Saddam Hussein in Iraq, and Khomeini in Iran. Saddam sponsored a systematic genocide of the Kurds. They moved us out of our lands so Iraqi Arabs could resettle into our homes. The Americans promised to help us in 1991 as we made an uprising against Saddam in conjunction with their Gulf War. And they abandoned us.”

  Peter patriotically interjects, “But we came back in 2003 and removed him.”

  “Pampered boy from California. You sit in your comfortable cities and know nothing of the barbarous acts that were caused by your government,” Zara chastises. “I lost my father because the Americans abandoned us in 1991. We have lost most of the males of his generation due to the Americans. Powers wanting our oil, or our help to secure oil, come in and make promises, and then leave us. We Kurds have no friends but the mountains, because when we are betrayed and crushed, we flee to the safety of the mountains, which take care of us.”

  Peter, digging himself deeper, tries to interject. “But—”

  “But nothing. Thousands upon thousands of our people were killed in government attacks. Gassed. Crushed by tanks. Taken away to torture camps they called prisons. With no warning, you could be taken from your home or off the street, and tossed into their prisons with no legitimate claim against you. And for women, they had their government rapists, whose duty was to rape women in front of their husbands, rape daughters in front of their fathers. For some women, they asked their loved ones to ensure they were never captured, meaning they should be killed before ever being taken.”

  Jean-Paul says, “History is rife with the same horrible stories, full of well-documented cases, such as of the Romans committing the same atrocities against women in their conquests. Husbands would kill their wives and daughters rather than let them be taken as Roman sex slaves.”

  “The Greeks, the Romans, the Franks, Arabs to non-Arabs, the Japanese to the Koreans and Chinese, the Nazis to the Jews and their military brothels, and the Russians back to the Germans, millions of women mercilessly and helplessly raped,” Zara adds.

  “And, Peter, these atrocities continue into the modern day,” Jean-Paul adds. “Bosnia, twenty thousand raped in a systematic genocide and ethnic cleansing. The same story repeats in Sierra Leone, Rwanda, Liberia, Sudan, Uganda, and the Congo, where reports estimated up to four hundred thousand women were raped in a twelve-month period from 2006 to 2007. And in this decade, the Boko Haram taking hundreds of girls for ‘brides,’ and then the abduction of over three thousand Ezidis by the Daesh.”

  And with cracking voice and emerging tears, Zara asserts, “Enough. Enough. You just do not know. Neither of you. How can you know the horrors?” And the plane goes silent.

  The silence is broken with the rocking of the plane to the left. Out the window, they watch another change of fighter escort as nine T-50s from an airbase in Georgia take up positions around the jet. Zara looks at her MoxWrap. “Six more SU-27s, which Russia supplied to the New Kurdistan, are coming to join us in ten minutes.” She puts up the MoxWorld security system radar map on the screen.

  Peter shivers as he points to two new groups of dots on the screen. Twelve F-35s from the US and nine F-16s from Turkey. The pilot announces that the US fighters are telling them to turn around. The Russian fighters are replying they will defend any attack.

  With a look of consternation, Zara taps away on her MoxWrap. Tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap. The MoxWorld security system announces that both the Russians and the US have radar lock on each other and will be in missile firing range in two minutes. One minute. And then the screens show the US fighters disengaging. Out their window, our trio see the Russian fighters turning back to Georgia. Alexander at work again.

  The Turks, though, continue their approach, with the New Kurdistan fighters turning to them to engage. A dogfight ensues as their armored jet dives towards the earth. Two Turkish F-16 evade the Kurdish fighters and follow their jet down. Peter, panicking, says to Zara and Jean-Paul, “Do something. Do something.”

  Zara shushes him and puts up a virtual workboard that ties in with the pilot’s. The security system announces radar lock, and the fighters have launched missiles. Zara taps all over the board in front of her as the plane makes nauseating turns and twists, and the missiles pass their jet, falling into the Kurdish landscape below.

  “Alexander’s electronic countermeasure systems are always one step ahead. Pray that I learned enough in the last day about his newest tech,” she states. “The Turks also have his systems, which are recalibrating based on our last evasive moves. Right now, his processors are working on a countermeasure for their next move on us.”

  The Turkish fighters come around again and launch more missiles. Two thuds from the bottom of the aircraft bump their plane. Zara says a pair of drones have been launched as the plane makes evasive maneuvers. The drones off to one side are detonated by the Turkish missiles.

  The Turk fighters swing around and launch their heat-seeking missiles. Their plane makes radical seat-belt-testing turns up and down and around while their infrared countermeasure flare systems launch and lasers activate, both confusing the heat seekers. And their plane is safe again for the moment as the Kurdish fighters return to chase
the Turks away. With this moment of calm, their jet dives into the mountains northeast of Bingol and flies nap of the earth to evade detection by more Turk fighters.

  Peter’s face wears several shades of green as he wishes he was on Mei’s jet over the Atlantic, taking her home to meet his mother. Their plane suddenly turns upwards at great speed as the MoxWorld security system announces two Chinese Shenyang J-31 fighters are on a collision course. Zara explains these are the Arabic Confederation’s latest-generation fighter jets, which China has supplied. Now they are in the frying pan.

  The finest from China make radar lock and fire missiles. Zara initiates their electronic countermeasures and launches their last two drones. And Peter holds his breath as the missiles narrowly miss them as they chase the drones. Zara is now shaking her head. The Chinese have modified Alexander’s systems aboard their jet, and the MoxWorld security system is slower to find a new countermeasure. And the Arabic Confederation jets launch their last round of missiles.

  As with last time, the plane makes evasive maneuvers with the infrared countermeasures, flare systems, lasers, and old-fashioned chafe. One missile clearly misses. The other one detonates off their left engine, which catches fire as they hear the fragments pelt the armor around their cabin. Zara is on her MoxWrap with the pilots, who say they need to land the jet now. They need to make an emergency landing at either Diyarbakır or Batman airport. Zara says neither are safe. Land at Siirt.

  “As they say in your movies, hold on tight, it is going to be a rough landing,” Zara says in her best attempt to make a joke of the dire situation as the plane begins to dive in a not-so-comforting way. “Once we land, if we land, we need to get our gear off the jet as fast as possible. More AC jets have been alerted and are coming in after us.”

  The plane lands, barely. And before the jet stops, Zara is already searching for something. Several flashes with small explosions come from the back. Peter panics. She explains that she detonated the key security chips in the electronic countermeasure systems so no one can get access to Alexander’s latest tech. She shows Peter the detonator switch she retrieved, which could detonate the whole plane if needed. Flip this knob this way, it is a press-button detonator. The other way, it becomes a “dead man” switch, one where you need to have your thumb on this switch at all times or it will detonate.

  The plane stops, and Jean-Paul and Zara go back to the storage and retrieve the five packs they brought on board from Luxembourg, the ones Peter could not lift to save his life. And much to the anger of not only Zara, but Jean-Paul the Serene, they can only carry two packs off the plane before Zara’s MoxWrap blares a warning of satellite-guided munitions imminent on their location. With the pilots, they flee as far as possible from the plane, which erupts into sky-high flames as the AC bombs destroy one of Alexander’s most secure jets.

  The Kurdish military police arrive on the tarmac. Zara shows them her identification and they show deference to her, something which definitely does not escape Peter’s attention. And they are taken back to their building at the airport.

  In the police building, Jean-Paul checks the equipment in the two packs he prioritized to be taken off the plane first. Peter cowers in a chair in the corner with his head shaking between his knees. After a few MoxWrap calls, Zara returns and asks Jean-Paul, “So what is our situation?”

  “Okay. The two chest-pack EM detectors are functional. But we have no other supplies,” says Jean-Paul, shaking his head and looking at Peter, who was utterly useless when the pinch happened.

  Zara stares at the shaken Peter. How could he have been so courageous to stand in between Mei and Alexander and yet cower here?

  She catches herself in a moment of weakness, feeling pity for him as she replies, “I know. I know. He will be the death of us. All of our security and weapon systems are now lost in those packs back there. They are dust and fragments spread across the runway.”

  She turns to Jean-Paul and jests, “I think this is the last time they are going to let me land here.” With that, she helps Jean-Paul carry the two packs outside to a waiting car.

  Outside, a midthirties Kurdish woman is standing by an older-model minivan. She comes up to Zara, giving her a hug. The hug and kisses of old friends. And she playfully gives her a salute.

  Zara introduces Jean-Paul to Peri, who shakes his hand, and then feels his arm muscles, leans down and feels his thighs. She asks Zara if there is anything between them.

  Zara drops the bomb on her, saying he is a priest, so Peri is not going to make a husband out of him.

  “Priest,” says Zara, “if you have a coin, I’ll flip you for who has to lift the silly American out of here.” And she smiles and goes to retrieve Sasha’s boy while Peri helps Jean-Paul load the packs into her minivan.

  Peter is near tears still with his head quivering between his knees. He stares at his shoes, certainly not what he was wearing when he got up a couple of days ago in a daze. How much he misses the Pacific. And then he sees the signature black ankle-wrap sandals his lovely Mei gave to Zara tapping with impatience. He peeks up, only to be met by her intense glare at him.

  “I can’t do this. I literally can’t do this. Can’t you leave me here and I can take the next flight back to San Francisco?” Peter cries.

  “Okay, Little Boy, time to stand up and be a man,” says Zara a little more compassionately as she helps him up. “If you’re a good boy, I might introduce you to my friend Peri, who is waiting for us outside. She is so crazed to land a husband, if you put your brave face back on, she just might take you home with her and do to you what you fantasize about your Chinese sex tart doing.”

  Outside, Zara introduces Peter to Peri, who looks him over and says, “Cute, isn’t he? He reminds me of someone. Not much on muscles. How are you at milking goats?”

  Still cowering, Peter climbs in back with Jean-Paul, who is taking inventory of the two pistols and rifle Peri brought with her, lying next to elementary school games. Nice to have your own personal supply of weapons in your minivan for those just-in-case moments.

  As they drive through the city, Peri and Zara catch up in machine-gun Kurdish. Peter is amazed to see the tall buildings, the tree-lined boulevards lit up with streetlights, the traffic, the latest-model cars, the yellow taxis, the malls and stores. This was not the Turkey he had imagined. Oh, wait, it is now the Anatolian Kurdish State, which he never imagined. They leave the city, heading towards what looked like mountains in the night sky.

  Not long after, they pull up to a house featuring an older part with a modern addition. Grey cinderblocks built on a rock foundation with a flat roof. Peter observes people sleeping on their roofs. Outside, a woman is waiting, dressed in a dark brown outer gown with sequins covering her chest to her feet, with beige underdress and pants, a coarse yellow headscarf, and a gold belt. Zara gives her a big kiss and hug, as does Peri.

  Mehhh. Mehhh. Two toddler lambs, one black, one white, come running out of the house and kick their little front feet upon Zara. She picks both up, hugs them, peeks into their adorable eyes, and kisses them.

  In horror, Peter watches this. She kissed me. Open-mouthed. With lips that kiss lambs’ lips. He will never be able to eat lamb again. Or kiss her.

  Still hugging her babies, she turns to Peter and Jean-Paul. “Please, may I introduce Maryam, my mother.”

  “Please, please, enter,” says Maryam in not-so-confident meek English. Peri excuses herself, kissing Jean-Paul and Peter goodbye, squeezing the latter’s tush just a bit. Inside the first building, the mal as Zara said, they enter the family sitting area. A multitude of colorful flowers decorate the room all around. Zara and Maryam have a small disagreement in Kurdish, after which Maryam excuses herself.

  “Please excuse my mother. She did not know I was bringing men home with me. She lives here with her sister, who comes here on the weekends, my grandmother, and my great-grandmother,” Zara explains.

  Maryam returns with a turquoise headscarf with complementary sequins to th
e ones on her gown. She and Zara have another minor disagreement, but as a good daughter, Zara concedes. “My mother says Jean-Paul can sleep in my aunt’s room, and you, Little Boy, you may sleep in my brother’s room,” says Zara. “It’s right over there, next to mine.”

  She turns to her mother and asks in Kurdish, “Are you happy now, Mama?”

  Maryam simply smiles at her beloved daughter and goes to the kitchen. Zara shows them where the washroom is, then shows Jean-Paul to her aunt’s room and finally leads Peter to her brother’s room.

  And before Zara can say no, Maryam has laid out a veritable Kurdish feast on the dining area floor. “Mama, no, no,” cries Zara. But to no avail Zara laments. Her mother has something in mind. One of those mother things a daughter cannot control.

  As Peter reenters the room, having washed off some of the torturous terror, from the plane flight, Maryam grabs his arm and shows him to a special place on the dining floor, the one that Nawdar would favor, much to Zara’s objections. She puts some berbesel soup in front of him, a dish of maqluba, a traditional upside-down casserole of lamb, fried vegetables, and rice, and a plate of assorted cheeses. Jean-Paul enters and is bemused. For the priest, nothing.

  As for Peter, Zara’s mother dotes on him. He smiles at her kindness, wondering if she is really related to Zara.

  Not so amused, Zara goes to the washroom, then to her room, and changes into another, more domestic robe. Upon her return, Zara politely offers food to Jean-Paul. After the famished priest has had a bit to eat, she helps Maryam clean up the plates. Tired, she kisses Maryam good night and bids good evening to her two weary travel companions, who retire to their guest rooms. In the empty mal, Zara takes a seat on the sofa with her little babies coming to nap next to her, the first real rest since her abduction by the malicious Sasha. And oh, how her feet are killing her. Even with those lovely sandals from Mei, her feet hurt so much, and her calves are cramping. So she rubs her aching muscle.