Read Online Garage Sale Diamonds (Garage Sale Mystery) by Suzi Weinert - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Suzi Weinert
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dowry. Imagine! None! Coaxing her to marry was easy, at least for a clever man like me, but living with her is impossible. She disgusts me every day. First, the way she looks. Second, she wears only the hijab, not a veil. Third, she won’t stay at home under my protection and control.” He shrugged. “Unlike our homeland, this degenerate American society fails to combine laws and customs with religion to enforce a man’s sovereign power over the women in his household. Even so, many American men correctly regard women as inferiors.” Mahmud laughed. “Some of their own religions, especially those called ‘fundamentalist,’ instruct men to rule as undisputed, respected heads of families…just as we do.”
Ahmed cleared his throat. “Your wife’s manner and dress show Muslim modesty…”
“Yes, but she’s not our kind of Muslim woman. She goes to meetings in the community and helps at Safia’s school. I insist she account to me where she goes and what she does. She drives a car, unheard of in our homeland. She questions my decisions, or did until I punched that notion out of her.” Mahmud gave a conspiratorial grin, confident any Muslim male understood his mandate to flex control upon household members defying his will.
Inwardly, Ahmed winced. His own father lifted no hand to harm the beloved, beautiful creature who was his wife.
“The final insult: she prevents conception. Oh, she denies this but what else explains we have only two children in twenty-three years of marriage? We should have at least ten.”
Ahmed nodded gravely.
“Zayneb is her Islamic name; she was called Phoebe before. She changed names when she converted from Protestant to Muslim because she correctly recognized the greater wisdom of our teachings. She joined Islam on her own. When I show her the Quran teaches a wife’s total submission to her husband, this sometimes works to my advantage.”
“And how is that?”
“I remind her she chose this path and my dominance is a vital part of the religion she selected. Confronted with this as her decision, I needn’t force her to obey. She forces herself.”
Ahmed thought if this were true, Mahmud would complain less, but he said nothing. His host filled the silence. “Zayneb inherited this house when her parents died.” He gestured around the room, “Well-built, large house, four bedrooms, good neighborhood. If she dies, as her husband, I inherit it all.” An ancient Bedouin gleam glittered in his eyes. “And she could die,” he held his hands as if choking someone, “because accidents happen all the time.”
Ahmed made no comment, but his host’s message was clear.
Mahmud changed the subject. “Look, the Americans have a saying, ‘the right tool for the right job.’ Zayneb is such a tool, needed to build the convincing structure to hide me…and you…until we complete our holy mission. She doesn’t know, but she is our cover.”
“And your children?”
“Ah,” Mahmud hesitated. “They are merely daughters, yet the fruit of my seed. The older one is lost to American ways, but the younger is devoted to me, and I admit special fondness for her.” Covering emotion in his voice, he added with conviction, “In the end, the little one is still another tool, yet one I leave with regret when you and I soon reap our rewards in Paradise. For our God, glory to His name, I will gladly give my life and all I hold dear…including my youngest child.”
Ahmed wished the joy of fatherhood could touch his own life. He pushed this thought aside. He gave his host a long look. The man’s words rang true, but something about him—a man integral to their mission—didn’t feel comfortable. Did Mahmud care more for his own glory than God’s?
And what of Mahmud’s desirable older daughter? Why would a god put devilish temptation in Ahmed’s path at the very time his final sacrifice for his god was at hand? A test or a sign?
“Come, we have work to do.” Mahmud rose and Ahmed
Ahmed cleared his throat. “Your wife’s manner and dress show Muslim modesty…”
“Yes, but she’s not our kind of Muslim woman. She goes to meetings in the community and helps at Safia’s school. I insist she account to me where she goes and what she does. She drives a car, unheard of in our homeland. She questions my decisions, or did until I punched that notion out of her.” Mahmud gave a conspiratorial grin, confident any Muslim male understood his mandate to flex control upon household members defying his will.
Inwardly, Ahmed winced. His own father lifted no hand to harm the beloved, beautiful creature who was his wife.
“The final insult: she prevents conception. Oh, she denies this but what else explains we have only two children in twenty-three years of marriage? We should have at least ten.”
Ahmed nodded gravely.
“Zayneb is her Islamic name; she was called Phoebe before. She changed names when she converted from Protestant to Muslim because she correctly recognized the greater wisdom of our teachings. She joined Islam on her own. When I show her the Quran teaches a wife’s total submission to her husband, this sometimes works to my advantage.”
“And how is that?”
“I remind her she chose this path and my dominance is a vital part of the religion she selected. Confronted with this as her decision, I needn’t force her to obey. She forces herself.”
Ahmed thought if this were true, Mahmud would complain less, but he said nothing. His host filled the silence. “Zayneb inherited this house when her parents died.” He gestured around the room, “Well-built, large house, four bedrooms, good neighborhood. If she dies, as her husband, I inherit it all.” An ancient Bedouin gleam glittered in his eyes. “And she could die,” he held his hands as if choking someone, “because accidents happen all the time.”
Ahmed made no comment, but his host’s message was clear.
Mahmud changed the subject. “Look, the Americans have a saying, ‘the right tool for the right job.’ Zayneb is such a tool, needed to build the convincing structure to hide me…and you…until we complete our holy mission. She doesn’t know, but she is our cover.”
“And your children?”
“Ah,” Mahmud hesitated. “They are merely daughters, yet the fruit of my seed. The older one is lost to American ways, but the younger is devoted to me, and I admit special fondness for her.” Covering emotion in his voice, he added with conviction, “In the end, the little one is still another tool, yet one I leave with regret when you and I soon reap our rewards in Paradise. For our God, glory to His name, I will gladly give my life and all I hold dear…including my youngest child.”
Ahmed wished the joy of fatherhood could touch his own life. He pushed this thought aside. He gave his host a long look. The man’s words rang true, but something about him—a man integral to their mission—didn’t feel comfortable. Did Mahmud care more for his own glory than God’s?
And what of Mahmud’s desirable older daughter? Why would a god put devilish temptation in Ahmed’s path at the very time his final sacrifice for his god was at hand? A test or a sign?
“Come, we have work to do.” Mahmud rose and Ahmed
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