Ra’id said quietly. ‘You are ready?’
Karim didn’t answer. His eyes darted around the room. Jamal stepped behind him, closed the door, and then locked it with a key that he dropped back into his pocket.
‘Are you ready?’ Abu Ra’id insisted.
‘I . . . I have a question,’ Karim said. His voice shook.
‘Then please ask it.’ There was a dangerous edge to his voice. Sarim wondered if the kid had picked up on it.
Karim licked his dry lips. ‘You said . . . You said that this was the greatest of all honours.’
‘And so it is,’ Abu Ra’id nodded.
‘Then why . . .’
The kid stumbled over his words. He looked like he wanted to speak but his tongue was frozen.
Abu Ra’id didn’t take his eyes off him. They were suddenly cold and cruel.
‘Why what , my son?’ His voice was level.
Karim was shaking uncontrollably, clearly torn between his need to ask the question and his fear of Abu Ra’id.
‘Why . . .’
He closed his eyes, bowed his head and took a deep breath.
‘Forgive me, Abu Ra’id, but why don’t you want to do it yourself?’
There was a sudden silence in the room. Sarim was shocked that Karim had even dared to ask this question, but Abu Ra’id’s face showed no expression. For a moment, the cleric didn’t even move. But then he stepped towards the teenager, extended both arms and placed his hands on the kid’s shoulders. Sarim saw his fingers massaging Karim’s muscles. ‘Believe me, my young friend,’ he whispered in a scarcely audible voice, ‘I would do it in an instant. But God has told me that it is not my time.’
Abu Ra’id lowered his arms and nodded at Sarim, who approached the young boy and took him gently by the arm. ‘Come and sit,’ he said.
The kid was shaking now. Gulping short gasps of breath. ‘I . . . I don’t think it’s my time either,’ he said. His voice wavered. ‘I’ve changed my mind . . . I don’t want to do it . . .’
‘Karim!’ Abu Ra’id said sharply. ‘Do not forget yourself. When you came to me you had nothing. No family. No God. I have been like your father. Sarim and Jamal have been your brothers. Together we have shown you the path. Will you cast all that back in our faces now?’
The teenager appeared unable to speak. Jamal had to force him towards the plastic sheeting. His eyes were drawn to the Arabic symbol draped behind the stool.
‘Sit,’ Sarim repeated, a bit firmer this time.
The kid’s knees buckled as he walked up to the stool and sat down. His eyes were closed now, and he was muttering to himself. Tears stained his cheeks. Sarim sensed his tension. He knew that the kid would try to bolt, if fear hadn’t drained all the energy from his limbs.
‘Let us prepare ourselves,’ Abu Ra’id said. From the table, he removed a plastic bag and a long wooden box. He handed the plastic bag to Sarim, who removed from it two black balaclavas, one for him, one for Jamal. They donned their masks. The scratchy wool irritated Sarim’s skin and he bizarrely remembered that he had not yet moisturised, as he did every day. He rubbed his palms against his face to relieve the itching, then took his place to Karim’s right. Jamal stood on his left.
Abu Ra’id was behind the camera, holding the wooden box. He opened it with a certain ceremony to reveal a long, bone-handled knife. The blade was seven inches long and Sarim knew it to be viciously sharp. Abu Ra’id stepped towards Karim and offered him the box. With trembling fingers Karim removed the knife, grasping the ornate bone handle lightly. He stared at the blade as Abu Ra’id retreated behind the camera again.
‘You know what to say?’ Abu Ra’id asked. His voice was calm and kind again.
Karim nodded. He couldn’t take his eyes off the blade. Abu Ra’id looked meaningfully at Sarim. A look that said: Be careful, my son.
‘I shall start the camera now,’ said the cleric. ‘You understand, Karim, that you must be the only one to speak?’ He
Karim didn’t answer. His eyes darted around the room. Jamal stepped behind him, closed the door, and then locked it with a key that he dropped back into his pocket.
‘Are you ready?’ Abu Ra’id insisted.
‘I . . . I have a question,’ Karim said. His voice shook.
‘Then please ask it.’ There was a dangerous edge to his voice. Sarim wondered if the kid had picked up on it.
Karim licked his dry lips. ‘You said . . . You said that this was the greatest of all honours.’
‘And so it is,’ Abu Ra’id nodded.
‘Then why . . .’
The kid stumbled over his words. He looked like he wanted to speak but his tongue was frozen.
Abu Ra’id didn’t take his eyes off him. They were suddenly cold and cruel.
‘Why what , my son?’ His voice was level.
Karim was shaking uncontrollably, clearly torn between his need to ask the question and his fear of Abu Ra’id.
‘Why . . .’
He closed his eyes, bowed his head and took a deep breath.
‘Forgive me, Abu Ra’id, but why don’t you want to do it yourself?’
There was a sudden silence in the room. Sarim was shocked that Karim had even dared to ask this question, but Abu Ra’id’s face showed no expression. For a moment, the cleric didn’t even move. But then he stepped towards the teenager, extended both arms and placed his hands on the kid’s shoulders. Sarim saw his fingers massaging Karim’s muscles. ‘Believe me, my young friend,’ he whispered in a scarcely audible voice, ‘I would do it in an instant. But God has told me that it is not my time.’
Abu Ra’id lowered his arms and nodded at Sarim, who approached the young boy and took him gently by the arm. ‘Come and sit,’ he said.
The kid was shaking now. Gulping short gasps of breath. ‘I . . . I don’t think it’s my time either,’ he said. His voice wavered. ‘I’ve changed my mind . . . I don’t want to do it . . .’
‘Karim!’ Abu Ra’id said sharply. ‘Do not forget yourself. When you came to me you had nothing. No family. No God. I have been like your father. Sarim and Jamal have been your brothers. Together we have shown you the path. Will you cast all that back in our faces now?’
The teenager appeared unable to speak. Jamal had to force him towards the plastic sheeting. His eyes were drawn to the Arabic symbol draped behind the stool.
‘Sit,’ Sarim repeated, a bit firmer this time.
The kid’s knees buckled as he walked up to the stool and sat down. His eyes were closed now, and he was muttering to himself. Tears stained his cheeks. Sarim sensed his tension. He knew that the kid would try to bolt, if fear hadn’t drained all the energy from his limbs.
‘Let us prepare ourselves,’ Abu Ra’id said. From the table, he removed a plastic bag and a long wooden box. He handed the plastic bag to Sarim, who removed from it two black balaclavas, one for him, one for Jamal. They donned their masks. The scratchy wool irritated Sarim’s skin and he bizarrely remembered that he had not yet moisturised, as he did every day. He rubbed his palms against his face to relieve the itching, then took his place to Karim’s right. Jamal stood on his left.
Abu Ra’id was behind the camera, holding the wooden box. He opened it with a certain ceremony to reveal a long, bone-handled knife. The blade was seven inches long and Sarim knew it to be viciously sharp. Abu Ra’id stepped towards Karim and offered him the box. With trembling fingers Karim removed the knife, grasping the ornate bone handle lightly. He stared at the blade as Abu Ra’id retreated behind the camera again.
‘You know what to say?’ Abu Ra’id asked. His voice was calm and kind again.
Karim nodded. He couldn’t take his eyes off the blade. Abu Ra’id looked meaningfully at Sarim. A look that said: Be careful, my son.
‘I shall start the camera now,’ said the cleric. ‘You understand, Karim, that you must be the only one to speak?’ He
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