A Bride of Allah

Between sobs, the girl moaned, “I don’t want to live, I don’t…”

Without turning, Andrei said through his teeth, “Shut it, will ya? I’m not going to give you to the cops. Just take off your belt and get lost.”

“I don’t want to live,” the girl kept saying, rubbing on her wet eyes.

“Okay, the railroad is over there. Go throw yourself under a train.”

“Suicide’s a sin,” the terrorist said earnestly and even stopped bawling. Her rounded eyes looked at Vlasov in amazement. How can anyone not understand this?

“Righteous, are you? So what was it you wanted to do by the metro station? What do you call that?”

The girl sat up, put the palms of her hands together, and started droning in a monotone, “I must die for my faith. I shall take the enemies of Allah with me; then I shall go to paradise. Paradise is a good place. There is no pain and no humiliation. There are flowers, divine fragrances, and everlasting happiness.”

“Exactly what enemies were you planning to destroy? Did you actually see those people by the metro station? Women with children, shopping for the start of the school year!”

“All infidels are enemies of Allah. Your women raise soldiers who kill our children.”

Andrei cringed; he’d heard those “songs” before.

“Soldiers are killing children. Yeah, sure, they’ve got no one else to fight, just children. What are you, a black widow?”

The girl suddenly stopped crying and said dejectedly, “No, I didn’t get a chance to be a wife.”

“Got it. Your guy fought against the federal forces, so he got wasted?”

“No, he wasn’t fighting.”

“Had to be a good man,” Vlasov winced sarcastically. “What happened to him?”

“He was killed in a raid.”

“Happens,” Andrei yawned ambivalently.

“What? Happens?” The girl, indignant, jumped out of the car. “They hit him with the butt of a rifle on the head and shot him like a dog. Prostrate, on the ground! He wasn’t even armed!”

Andrei flicked away the cigarette butt.

“Don’t you make a soldier angry when he’s got his finger on a trigger! He may be in a uniform, but he’s just a kid, and he pees himself when he walks into your courtyard, with hostile mugs all around! So you and your guy had to stick your highlander pride up your ass when you got raided. Got it?”

Andrei’s stare met the girl’s; flames of rage ran toward each other and snuffed out like a brush fire when one wave of fire meets another. Andrei looked down and said calmly, “Take off that belt.”

“I can’t,” the girl said desperately.

“What do you mean, can’t? Don’t make me angry!”

“It was put on so that I can’t take it off myself.”

Vlasov leaned forward. “Show me.”

The girl, ashamed, covered herself; her swarthy face reddened.

“Stop playing hard to get!” Andrei spread the girl’s clasped hands and opened her cardigan. His fingers carefully lifted up the loose blouse. On the girl’s slim waist, there was a weighty foil-wrapped bundle shaped into a wide belt. “Um, nice package.”

The girl pulled the blouse down, “Don’t look!”

“Hands off, okay? Don’t make me angry! I am not trying to play your lover.”

The girl closed her eyes in embarrassment and bit her lower lip; her face bore an expression of suffering.

“Take off your cardigan,” Andrei ordered.

The girl, ashamed, clasped her hands and shook her head no.

“Come on, take it off. No need to cover. I don’t care about your curves.”

“They tied it up from behind.”

“Okay, so turn around.”

The girl obediently took off her cardigan and leaned forward, her face to the car seat.

Andrei lifted up her blouse; on her back were large bruises.

“Ouch! That’s quite a beating you got by that metro station.” He looked closer; along with fresh bruises, there were older, yellow marks. “Where did you get those? Did our military do that? Did you try to fight for your fiancé? Special forces have hard boots.”

The girl sobbed silently; her body started shaking as she wept. Andrei bared her entire back. Under her fine skin, he could see the protrusions of her vertebrae; on both sides of her spine, there were traced of multiple beatings. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Andrei looked askance; he could see a part of her breast and on it, a dark bite mark.

The girl moved her elbow covering her breast; her shoulder blade lifted up on her back.

“What are you looking at? Untie it!” she hurried him rudely.

Andrei bent over the knots; his fingers couldn’t grab on the nylon cord.

“It’s tied fast. Can’t untie.” He pulled with his teeth, but soon gave up. “Looks like this belt wasn’t supposed to come off. Too bad I don’t have a knife. I’ll try a screwdriver. Hold on.”

He opened the trunk; for a while, tools clanged as he rummaged through them. Andrei came back with a small screwdriver. The girl faced him sitting up. Hardened expression on her face, she watched the lights of a commuter train speeding by. When the train’s rattle died down, she said tiredly, “It wasn’t yours.”

“What? I don’t get it.” Andrei inquired.

“It wasn’t the military who beat me up.”

“Who then?” Andrei looked at the girl, surprised.

There was no answer. The suicide bomber turned her back to him and shouted rudely, “Untie it!”

“What do you think I am doing? You better, um, wipe your face. You’ve got dry blood on your lips. I’ve got tissues between the front seats.”

Andrei made an effort and broke the cord in two places with his screwdriver. The belt came off. He weighed in his hand, ran his fingers over it.