by Eve Rabi
“O … kay. Where are your kids now?”
“With my ex.” She whips out a string of beads from her pocket and plays with them as we speak.
“Ah.”
During her spare time, Leeanne pours over the Bible, and when she is not reading her Bible, she is quietly preaching to injured militants. In spite of her evangelical ways, we get on very well. The moment Bitchface’s back is turned, we start our jabbering. However … Leeanne can be a pain in the ass sometimes.
“Megan, please, I am most uncomfortable with your language,” she says in a voice probably used by Mother Superior. “Kindly refrain from using profanity around me.”
For fucks sake!
“We’re in prison, Leeanne. I’m a frustrated prisoner. It’s normal for me to let it rip. Cathartic even. Not forgetting I’m a soldier?”
“Megan, Psalms 1:15 …”
There she goes again. Driving me nuts. I mean, I’m not religious, and I have the utmost respect for religion and God in general, but I’m uncomfortable around any kind of extremists.
Treading carefully and remembering to say “darn!” instead of “fuck!” is a challenge, and I fear an implosion.
There’s more. When she catches me smoking in the indoor garden, she wrinkles her pert nose. “That’s a disgusting habit.”
I shrug.
“Want one?”
She shakes her head slowly, her look of disgust waxing. I brace myself for a sermon.
“Revelation 3:15 …”
Aaaaarrrrgggg!
Funny enough, I suspect Bitchface is intimidated by Leeanne. I mean, she leaves her alone and doesn’t give her a hard time. Could be something to do with Leeanne brandishing a Bible all the time.
***
Brandishing her Bible does not keep her safe all the time. Fazel, one of the militants, has been eyeballing Leeanne for a few days. She ignores him, but as the days go by, Fazel starts taking liberties– touching her.
Since I know what it feels like, having had my encounters with Nazeem and Bilal, I am silently fuming. And concerned. To make matters worse, another militant they call Saam, has joined Fazel, and together they harass Leeanne.
Worried, I decide to enlist Reed’s help. I corner him in the kitchen. “Reed, Fazel and Saam are touching Leeanne. Inappropriately.”
“What?!”
“Yeah. Leeanne needs your help here …”
Reed and I are interrupted by yelling in the ward. Leeanne’s voice. We exchange startled looks, then dash into the ward.
We’re stunned to see Leeanne standing over Fazel with balled fists. Fazel is backed against the wall, cradling his rifle and looking terrified. Next to him is Saam, cowering and clutching his rifle to his chest.
“Did you hear what I said, you FUCKING dirtbags? Keep your fucking paws off me!”
Okay, this is surreal. Firstly, Leeanne is using profanity. Secondly, if one of these scumbags opens fire on Leeanne, nobody would say a thing right now.
An audience has gathered. Some cast disapproving looks in Fazel’s direction, and looks of fear in Leeanne’s. Fazel’s eyes dart all over the place. Looking for an exit, no doubt.
With a menacing growl, Leeanne reaches over, picks up her Bible, and slaps Saam several times. Like a little naughty boy being smacked by his mom, Saam uses his arm to fend off her blows.
“You too, you motherfucking piece of shit!”
Although Saam blocks with both arms, Leeanne still manages to get in a few good shots.
Horrified and fascinated at the same time, Reed and I stare with our mouths open wide. These guys can so easily empty their rifles on her, but they’re acting like a bunch of pussies.
In fact, anyone in the ward can kill Leeanne for daring to talk back to her captors.
“From now on, you stay ten feet away from me? Understand?”
Saam and Fazel look at the ground.
“UNDERSTAND?”
Both nod quickly.
With flaring nostrils, Leeanne takes ten deliberate, but large steps away from them, turns around, and points with all fingers to her feet. “Ten feet. This … is ten feet. That’s how far you stay. Get it?”
With great vigor and zeal, Fazel and Saam nod.
With great vigor and zeal, all the men in the ward nod too.
“Good.” Arms akimbo, she stands really tall and eyeballs them. “Now … get the FUCK out of my sight, you fucking … motherfucking … assholes!”
Fazel and Saam exchange furtive glances, but seem frozen to the spot. Or perhaps they have lost their hearing – it’s hard to tell.
“Move!” she screams.
The two guys scoot out of the bunker, rifles in hand.
With narrow eyes, Leeanne scans the room. “Anybody else wanna fuck with me?”
The men look down.
“Huh? Any other fuckers wanna try me? HUH?”
Silence.
She nods and turns to Reed.
He blinks rapidly under her glare.
In a low voice she says, “Give … me … a … cigarette.”
He gulps. “You eh, don’t …”
“Give me a cigarette, NOW!” She’s five two, he’s six three. That means fuck all to her right now.
With great urgency, Reed digs into his pocket, fishes out a pack of Camels, and with fumbling hands tries to open the pack.
Leeanne snatches the pack from him and storms off in the direction of the indoor garden.
All eyes follow her every step till she disappears from sight.
The place is suddenly so quiet; you can hear the fear in the air.
After a few minutes, I walk over to Leeanne. With folded arms, I stand at the entrance of the atrium and watch her drag on her cigarette. One puff and half the cigarette burns. Next to her, an ashtray holds two smoked cigarette butts. Bad Pixie. That’s what she reminds me of now.
She turns slowly to look at me. “What?”
I smile. “You sure can kick ass, Sister Spark Plug.” I hold out my knuckles to her. “Respec’.”
She smiles for the first time today. “Grew up in the Bronx. Nobody fucks with me. ‘Member that.”
“Oh no, no, no, girlfriend! After what I saw earlier on, no way will I be fucking with you anytime soon. No siree Bob. Respect.”
After that, Leeanne is a new person. A badass. Not only does she smoke, she curses like a truck driver. Most of all, she’s fun, and these days, I’m laughing my ass off with her.
***
Leeanne and I are in my room giggling about … something, when Reed knocks and enters.
He nods a greeting at Leeanne and hands me a bag. “Now share,” he says.
“Oh, thank you!” we chorus. I tear open the bag and to my delight I find tampons, mint toothpaste, orange-scented shampoo, and most importantly, chocolate.
“Awesome!” I empty the contents of the bag onto the bed. “This shampoo – wow! Smells fantastic.” I touch my hair. “Can’t wait to …”
“But wait! There’s more,” Reed says and leaves the room. He returns with a small boom box and some CDs.
“Music!” Leeanne yells and rushes to put on a CD.
The music is American – wonderful. A rock group called A-OK. Outdated, but familiar enough. We bob to the music for a while before we jump on my magnificent, custom-made bed and strum air-guitars. Then we try to outdo each other with hair-flipping.
Reed watches us with a huge grin on his face. His smile tonight is brighter than usual, and his eyes are shining.
Intrigued, I stop my head-banging, draw my hair away from my face, and peer at him.
“What?” he asks. “What? What?”
“You’re … drunk?”
He gives an exaggerated shrug.
“I thought Muslims don’t drink.”
“They … don’t,” he says in a cocky voice.
Puzzled, I stare at him. Then I look at Leeanne.
She lifts and drops her shoulders as she gobbles more chocolate.
“Well, gooonigh�
�, ladies,” Reed slurs and stumbles out of the room. At the door, he turns and salutes.
Leeanne and I look at each other. “He’s drunk!” we chorus.
“With a name like Reedwan he has to be Muslim,” I say in a bemused voice.
She shrugs. “Don’t really give a fuck that he’s the bastard child of Iraq. I like him.”
“I like him too. He’s my guardian angel. If it wasn’t for him …”
“Yeah, but I’m thinking that dude’s got a drug problem or something,” she says. “Always spaced out.”
She’s right; he is always staring into space. “Mmm.”
Chapter Nine
Shariff holds weekly meetings at the bunker. His entourage – guys with long beards, cold stares, and automatic weapons, shadow him. Also accompanying him is his deputy, Omar – a ruthless, forty-something mother fucker with an evil eye, an evil grin, and an evil accent.
During their visits, they bring videos for the men to watch. “Inspirational” videos. Leeanne and I are ordered to watch too. Omar narrates as everyone watches. Mainly videos showing insurgents triumphing over coalition forces – car bombings, kidnappings, and beheadings. Both Leeanne and I struggle to sit through the sessions, and both of us have vomited more than once after some of these viewings.
Since Shariff is distracted by his son’s injuries these days, Omar says prayers, then thanks the men for their valor and bravery.
“Day by day we are gaining in our jihad,” Omar says. “9-11 is noooothing. We have brought America to its knees. That is nooot enough for us. We must destroy the infidels.”
Everyone cranes their neck to look at me. Nobody dares look at Leeanne.
I stare at the ground, hoping it will open up and swallow me whole.
Sometimes they bring footage from CNN and FOX. As most of the men have a problem with English, Omar translates: “Dear fellow Americans, we are losing the battle in their jihad against us. We should not listen to Bush anymore. We must retreat, take our men out of Iraq, give the Iraqis their land back. We deserve to die. We deserve for our throats to get cut.”
The men cheer and clap at Omar’s words. Some raise their hands to the ceiling and give thanks while others do a victory jig.
When I watch the Anchor men and women on FOX and CNN, I get so homesick, tears spring to my eyes. In fact, my mood these days is pretty low, and it takes the littlest of things to spark a bout of blue.
To boost morale among the men, Omar brings along belly-dancers to entertain them. The dancers are stunning with their waist-length dark hair, brightly colored but revealing costumes, and hips that appear to rotate on an axis of their own.
The men are totally smitten. I myself am totally in awe of them.
After the dancing, the dancers disappear with men into rooms for short periods. That night we don’t need to administer analgesics to the men. They fall asleep with smiles on their faces.
Leeanne and I double up as waitresses for the evening while Shaida and Sara have the night off. After the party, we clean till the early hours of the morning. That sucks.
During one of these parties, I see Bygone spinning a 9mm, obviously trying to impress the belly-dancer next to him. To his delight, she giggles and claps her hands, and a short time later, they disappear into a room.
As I clear tables, I see the gun on a chair. Bygone has left it behind. My heart lurches. I could steal it right now, the opportunity is there. But I know that if Bygone or anyone looks for it, Leeanne and I are going to come under suspicion.
I try to move on, but I’m simply unable to pass it up. This is Bygone – he’s as old as the earth, so he’s probably forgetful. Dare I take a chance? Surreptitiously, I hide the gun under a cushion. If anyone looks for the gun or makes a fuss, I’ll bring it out and leave it somewhere it can be discovered.
Two days later, no one has asked about the 9mm, and my excitement soars.
Wonder if it’s loaded? Didn’t have time to check the other day.
A week passes before I sneak the gun into my room. After midnight, when everyone is asleep, I check out the 9mm. Fully loaded, hollow points. Beautiful. If I don’t miss, I can take down sixteen militants. I’d better not miss.
My excitement has me up at night plotting my escape.
It’s just a matter of when.
***
“Hey, Megan!” Leeanne calls. “Bygone wants to go to Vegas. Says he heard he can get a laptop for twenty bucks.”
“Wha …?” I look at Bygone. “Laptop …you mean a lapdance?”
Leeanne and I laugh out loud.
Suddenly, we are doused with a bucket of cold water.
“What the fuck?!” we chorus.
We look up into Shaida’s satanic smile. “You want to laugh, eh? No laugh here.”
Behind her the men are also laughing at us. “Wet T-shirt, wet T-shirt!” They clap.
“Aw fuck off!” I mutter.
Leeanne says nothing, but quietly wrings her shirt, her lips a thin line.
As I wipe away water from my face and glare at Bitchface, my blood threatens to boil over. “One of these days,” I mutter. “Just you wait.”
Her grin widens and she rubs her palms together in a bring-it-on motion.
Bitch.
I’m smart enough to know my place, so I storm off before this turns even uglier. It’s obvious she’s waiting for me to make a bad move so she can kick my ass.
As I turn away, I slam into Reed.
“What’s wrong? Why are you wet?”
“Shaida,” I say through clenched teeth. “Threw a bucket of water on us.”
“Threw a bucket …why?”
“Cos we were laughing.”
He cocks his head to one side. “Because you were laughing?”
“Yes. Bygone wants to go to America cos he heard he can get a laptop for twenty dollars. So we started to …”
Reed throws his head back and guffaws.
“Not funny,” I fume and walk away, his laughter ringing in my ears.
It doesn’t end there, unfortunately. Shaida yells at me for something. I turn away and mutter under my breath. It’s all I can do.
Suddenly, she shoves me so hard I crash onto the ground, the contents of the medical tray I’m holding becoming airborne.
Furious, I jerk to my feet and face her. “You bitch!” I snarl.
Her fists are already raised, ready to beat the shit out of me.
Just then Reed dives between us. “Stop, Megan!” he hisses. “They’ll hurt you.”
I look around, see two guards eyeballing me and force myself to simmer down.
“Did you see what she did?” I hiss.
“Doesn’t matter. Just stop. There’s a dungeon, remember?”
I glare at Shaida.
“You will be alone there with just two guards. You don’t want that.”
Slowly, my arms drop to my sides.
Reed grabs my elbow and steers me away towards my room. He opens the door and lets me in.
In my room, I sit on the bed and fume while he stands over me. “I’m sick of this,” I say. “It’s wrong. This place is fucked up and I’m a slave here. What else do they want out of me? Blood? They took that already. I have the scars to prove it.”
Silence.
For a few minutes I rant and rave about everything, and he just listens without a word.
Finally, when I’m calm, I return to the ward.
Shaida looks at me and smiles. If her mission is to humiliate me, she’s succeeding.
I feel tense, edgy, and trapped. She’s breaking me.
Somehow, I’ve got to get away. I have a gun; I just need to figure out how and when.
***
Midnight. I’m in my room, pacing.
Haven’t slept properly in days. I’m feeling caged, suffocated, and I fight the urge to scream and throw things. It’s almost like I’m having a panic attack, and I’ll bet if I were in the US, they’d give me scheduled drugs for this.
A dripping fauc
et in the bathroom adds to my irritation. I walk to the bathroom, slap at the light switch, and look around for the perpetrating faucet. Nothing. None of them are dripping.
Bemused, I turn off the lights, go back to my room, and resume my pacing.
I hear that dripping faucet again.
Fuck! Again, I hurry back to my bathroom, hit the light switch, and glare at the faucets. Again, none of them appear to be dripping. What the fuck?!
I turn off the light, drag myself back to my bedroom, stand in the middle of the room, body rigid, ears straining.
Then, I hear the dripping again. Motherfucker!
I tiptoe silently back to the bathroom. This time, I don’t turn on the light. I stand in the dark, look at the faucet with narrow eyes, and wait.
Nothing.
So intent am I on finding this offending faucet, I don’t blink.
Nothing.
With notions of a conspiracy theory involving a gold-plated faucet in my head, I drag myself out of the bathroom.
Moments later, I hear dripping again.
“Aagghh!” I dive into my bed and cover my head with a pillow to block out the sound.
It’s deliberate. They’re doing it to me – the assholes are trying to break me.
After a few minutes, I realize with sadness that it’s no conspiracy – I’m just losing my mind. I need to escape, get out of here. I don’t give a fuck that I may die, I just have to get out. There has to be a way.
Just then, Reed knocks and enters.
“Hi,” he says. “Why do you have a pillow …?”
I quickly jerk the pillow off my head and look at him. Looking smart today. Navy suit, white shirt, polished black shoes. Borderline dashing.
“A suit? Were you witness to a signing of a peace treaty or something?”
He grins, revealing just about all his teeth. Tonight the whiff of whisky is strong, and he’s bumping into furniture. Beneath his polished exterior, I notice his face is flushed and his eyes are bloodshot. “Here,” he says and hands me a bag.
“Thanks.” I take the bag and set it aside. Normally, I’d tear into it, but today I’m not interested.
He cocks his head to one side and peers at me, a confused look in his eyes. After a few moments, he turns and shuffles out of my room.