Katyusha Babies

"Sadiman," hissed the authoritative voice of Iman Abu Dawood, " even the new offspring of a merchant family has to learn the boundaries of heavenly law. Let me have one of those flyers."

Imam Abu Dawood was dressed in his black cleric clothes with the neat buttons, pockets, and seems. His head was covered in a rolled black head dress. His beard was long and diligently tapered into a sharp triangle. The glasses were lifted onto his nose with purpose. He focused onto Sadiman's flyer to decipher it.

"For the love of your family, I will give you twice the punishment. Because if your bad intentions aren't stopped now, they will end very badly. The verdict is 25 lashes on the soles of your feet. And, I will take you to the university court plaza now to administer them."

"Four – four", stammered Sadiman.

"Four? Are you trying to bargain divine judgment like a chicken in the market?"

"Four, you need four credible witnesses for a conviction. The scriptures require four reliable, credible witnesses. You are very credible. You are only one."

"Ha, you studied the scriptures."

Imam Abu Dawood let go of Sadiman and looked around the empty lunch area. With a stunned look in his eyes, Imam Abu Dawood tilted his head sideway. Then, he turned and walked away without speaking another word. The lower part of his robe weaved and fluttered with the swing of his legs. The leather sandals quieted their low slabs on the ground in the distance.

Sadiman tried to step forward. However, the adrenaline pumping in his leg had shaking him so much that the legs collapsed beneath him like soft foam. With the help of a chair, he raised himself up only to fall again and spill the contents of his school bag onto the floor. More flyers, books, pens, coins spilled out.

Lying sideways on the floor, propped up by his arms, he translated his number flyer in his head: "Every Thursday, 5 PM, secret alcohol club meets. Bring berries, fruit, grains." Sharia law forbade every Muslim from drinking intoxicants. With the whole word having converted to Islam. He would have the only water hole in the world. And, his brothers had told him stories of Dick Tracy, Al Capone, and Bonny and Clyde, the heroes during the American prohibition. Sadiman saw his future as the kingpin of a vast underground alcohol syndicate.

STORY CONTINUES

However, as everyone entered the bus, Pekhat was still focused enough on his job to catch Talti trying to sneak past him to the back of the bus. Pekhat snatched Talti by the ear and twisted it firmly. Talti took a quick knee to ease the torque on his ears, "Pekhat, please, I will sit in the front row."

Talti found himself sitting next to the gentle Delal. There couldn't have been a greater contrast. Talti was a large and had the body and mind of a farm hand. His eyes were slightly dull. His stamina was always ready to push. Delal was smallish with delicate facial features. She had refined eye browse, eyes, and nose. There was always a sparkle in her eyes. Her eyes were always ready to connect with another person and to observe what was happening.

Talti sat silently, because he was unfamiliar with women. His mind rather enjoyed thinking about the boisterous run on the slope and the hard strokes propelling him through the water. He remembered playing rough with other boys, pulling two under water at the same time. It felt good to feel his muscles flex as they pulled down the other boys.

And, then during a turn it happened. Delal's arm was pushed onto Talti during the sharp serpentine turn. Her arm felt like half the heft of his body. It felt so foreign that it startled Talti's mind. Delal was quick to excuse herself. However, Talti's mind wasn't quickly back to his day dreams. Awakened, he noticed the faint female smell coming from his seat mate so close to his nose. It was a mixture of fresh water, dark mud scents, and above all was something gentle, soft, foreign, and definitely feminine.

He looked at her face. Her skin was lightly brown. However, the brown was so vibrantly colorful. Her lips were small and beautifully shaped. The color was between a clear read and a soft pink. Being so close, he could see the creases running across her lips.

"You are Delal, aren't you? You are the niece of the Omer boys."

"Yes, you keep fighting with them."

"Oh, yeah, we have a long feud, since they dishonored my family."

"You think by flirting with me, they will like you more."

"I am not flirting with you. How dare you!"

Talti looked out of the window. Oak trees with twisted limbs were outside. The texture of the logs had many different splotches of brown and green. Every tree had its own texture. The canopies were tall and inspired dreams of climbing up there. The remaining sun rays shot white-yellow lines through the leaves. The orange horizon changed the hue of the leaves into something soft and warm. Delal was interrupted out of her thoughts.

"Just for asking, how much is your dowry?"

"The dowry is a delicate conversation with my father. If you want to get to know a girl, start asking about her like what kind of book she reads."

"Okay, what kind of book do you read?"

"You are only saying that because I just told you."

Silence fell again. He liked the way that she moved her head, when she listened. It was like her head was glued to his lips moving. And, when he paused, she'd look sideways, as if she had a profound insight about what he said. People always paid attention to what he said, because they want to get an early warning before the beating. However, she paid attention to him as if to understand him. It made her seem so smart.

The sun was gone completely. The bus shot through the darkness with a triangle of light running ahead of it. The camp fire lights of the Bedouin camp were coming closer. They would stay here for the night before returning back to the city.

Delal looked at Talti with a guilty face. Her eyes showed care. Perhaps, she had been too rude.

"Actually, I am reading the script for the school theatre play."

"Oh, I am so signing up for it. PEKHAT, DO YOU HEAR, I AM SIGNING UP FOR THE THEATRE PLAY."

BACKFLASH: ABDA'S FATHER

Abda's father sat against the wall. He stared at his ten year old son in front of him, who was writing his homework into the school book. Abda's father was not a large man. However, his shoulders were bulky. The room was almost completely dark. The windows were covered with clothes. He liked it that way. Abda's mother was standing at the far end sorting food into bowls. Abda sat at the opposite side of the room and wearily observed her dad.

"You forgot a letter in your sentence. Write the sentence ten times to practice," ordered Abda's father.

Her brother only looked up for a second. Then, his head went back down to work on drawing the letters into the paper with two much pressure. His little fingers were cramped around the pen with huge force. He was learning to draw the circles and lines that made up letters.

"Have mercy on the boy. The other boys have been out playing for two hours already. I can hear them laugh for joy," pleaded Abda's mother.

Abda's father did not respond to the comment or even look at mother. He ignored her now the same way, that he had ignored her pleas for him to get up and find work. He had been sitting in the same spot for three days now. Two years had passed since he worked as a cab driver in Baghdad. Reluctantly, he had moved to Kurdistan for better job prospects. For unspoken reasons, he had not dared leave the house ever since they had arrived in Kurdistan.

The boy finished his penalty practice sentences. With a quick smile, he turned the sheet over to his father. The letters were overly large, yet clearly legible.

"Your B's are off. Write ten sentences that start with B."

"Ehwand, what have you become. I do not recognize you anymore."

"Abda still recognizes me. Abda, come here. Give me a kiss."

Abda sat against the opposite wall. She was dressed in a black traditional dress. Her head piece covered her entire head and face. Only a small slit allowed her eyes to look out into the world. She was a timid eighteen year old girl. Her bare light brown hands held onto her knees pulled against her chest.

Mother approached father, "You do not touch the girl. I won't let it happen."

Father lifted his right hand over his right shoulder and hit down into her crook between the shoulders and neck. Mother was thrown across the room. Her face hit something hard, a cup or a container. A black mark began its first second of lifetime and a welt joined it. A pen dropping to the floor cut the momentarily silence.

"You women believe that in permissive Kurdistan, you don't have to obey the man of the household anymore, do you? Mohamed has still entrusted in me the leadership of this house. And, none of you will go out to fraternize with those wild Kurds. Now, kiss me, Abda."

Abda slowly rose. The ruffling sound of her clothes scared Abda. She wanted to be invisible and inaudible. She kneeled down in front of her father twice the size of her and an anger in his face that must have come from the depth of hell. Her mind became ultra-aware of the little room that the whole family had lived in. There was only a low wooden table in the center of the room. Rugs around the side of the room had been their cots. A small fireplace in a corner was the kitchen. She had never escaped the breathing, stinking dragon of her father.

She lifted her veil. Her eyes were actually green. The cheek section beneath her eyes were so round that they seemed like two little ping pong balls. Her nostrils were overly round, like a piggy nose. She leaned forward to kiss her father softly. Just before the kiss, she inhaled for courage. And, she smelled the putrid body odor of a tormented fearful man. While she felt her father's facial hair pierce her useful skin, she heard the sobbing crying of her mother behind her.

"Ehwand, I need to buy new milk. We have no more milk for dinner," stated mother pressing down her sobs.

"What woman? You just bought milk yesterday. There should be a full jar," replied father.

"Mother is right. I had the last bit of milk. And, remember, sharia law requires that mother have a male companion in public. You must sent my brother with her," said Abda softly.

Father nodded to it. Mother and brother left the small room. For a moment, the blinding desert sun stunned the two remaining, Ehwand and Abda. Abda knew that there was more milk left. Abda knew that Kurdish law was more lax and allowed women to be near equal. She had saved her mother and sister from her father's vile mood. She was the martyr. She knew what awaited her. The blue marks on her shins and arms from two days ago had turned green. As a last step of self soothing, she wrapped her opposing hands across her forearms and braised for what was to come.

STORY CONTINUES

The bus arrived at the Bedouin camp. The youth filed quietly out of the bus with tired eyes looking keenly ahead for what awaited them. A large black tent with no walls welcomed them. Ancient Berber rugs were rolled on the floor. The rugs had equally luxurious and worn patterns. Many feet had stepped onto the rugs that had been created hundreds of years ago during the high phase of the Middle Eastern civilizations. Round pillows were scattered across the blanket.

Their shoes were left in a long line at the edge of the rag. Their bare feet and bare hands ruffled through the darkness of night to get a seat at the large tin plates laden with rice piles. Everyone ate like a wolf in the semi darkness of only a few lanterns. And, then they fell asleep pretty much, where they had eaten.

The tall mountains and the black tent cover wrapped everything in near complete darkness. Only the ruffling sound in the tent fabric provided any sense of direction. The youths were lying in a scattershot fashion on the thick rag with pillows pulled under their heads. They slept. Delal slept curled into a fetal position. Klaus slept flat on his back with his hand folded over his belly. Talti hugged the pillow under his chest lying face down. Talti dominated the pillow like a little animal pinned down.

Somewhere in the middle of the night, it could have been right after going to sleep or an hour before morning, there was no watch or moon to tell the time, Meryem screamed. It was a short startled scream that woke her up. She was confused to why she had been screaming. And then, as she moved to the other side, she realized why. The nerve pain was shooting through her arms and legs. She shivered as quietly as she could to not draw attention. However, the fabric rubbing against each other ever so gentle made quiet swoosh sounds.

Delal heard a soft repetitive sound penetrating into her dream of trees and mountain sheep. The lofty tree tops faded into the blackness of the night. She felt the woven rag underneath her hands. She recollected that she was sleeping in a Bedouin tent. The only thing that she could see in the darkness was a boulder reflecting faint light outside the tent.

Delal's hand lifted and reached into the soft danger of blackness. There was no telling what her hand would touch, dirty feed, leftover food, or black void. Her hand felt soft, wet, and warm skin. The skin easily sled apart to let her fingers sink deeper than she had wanted. It was a mouth. Her hand jerked back into the air.

"Who is this?" asked Meryem with a breathed whisper.

"Meryem!? Are you alright?" whispered Delal as she turned over to Meryem's direction. Delal's handed carefully patted hand length by hand length forward to find the outline of Meryem's body.

"Oh, night terrors. Go back to sleep," replied Meryem.

Delal found Meryem's hand. Meryem's hand was shivering tiny, fast movements. The skin felt cold and clam. Delal thought of her sweet, little brother, who was still a young child. Her little brother would get afraid at night and pee in his pajamas. The only thing that calmed him was his older sister holding him and pulling him tight. Then, he would burrow his disheveled and sweaty head into her bosom. The hot tight little body would gradually ease, relax, cool, and snuggle softly.

Delal shifted her body carefully closer. Alternating, she moved her hips, feet and shoulders to remain silent in the middle of the pack of nosy college freshmen. Delal's body hugged Meryem's from the side. Delal could feel the hips and shoulders under Meryem's clothing. Delal could also feel one of the boobs, the soft mound under Meryem's clothes. Meryem stiffened to the uninvited touch and then relaxed to the soothing and healing feeling of it.

Encouraged by the receptive energy from Meryem, Delal gave Meryem little kisses on the forehead and dotted her way down to the cheeks. Delal did the same for her little brother, who'd always intently sense the touch of her lips on him. So did Meryem, until Delal's lips touched her own soft lips. They felt each others' lips for split second. Yet, the soft, warm, and moist touch lingered in their minds. The sensitive part of their body stimulated them deeply. Shocked at her accidental kiss, Delal pulled back and lay on her back.

After a moment, Meryem realized how deathly embarrassed Delal must be. Meryem hated the mental needles of pain that shame brings as much as she hated the nerve pain. So, Meryem rolled to her side and kissed Delal onto the lips. She held the kiss long and lingering. Both fully felt the nurturing warmth in their body and the tingling in their breasts. Then, they broke the kiss and remained the night holding hands dearly.

BACKFLASH: DELAL AT THE MARKET

For a moment, Delal's eyes were fixed on the man. White spit bubbles dotted the corners of his mouth. He had been yelling 'two-fifty, sweetheart' over and over. His eyes were darting side to side without focus. The white of his eye popped out from hours of frenzy. The black beard stopples in the light brown face told the story of sleeping in his market stand for days.

Her eyes let go of the market crier. The market criers tried to win customers by being louder, a poor and miserable job. They would have to stay with the stand for the entire season. Someone might come at the middle of the night. Their boss would lose out on that sale.

Grownups with their big coats and bags were pushing through the narrow market street. Sandals shuffled through the dry dirt. Dates, figs, wild cucumbers, and bananas were neatly placed in round baskets. The white square buildings with the black squares provided the backdrop.

Delal let out a deep breath and dove into the crowd. She hugged her little baby clothes to her body to protected. She surrendered her body to being touched from all sides. Being a short young woman, she only saw big bulking backs and the occasional fat breast about two inches in front of her face.

A butt with a scruffy coat bumped into her belly. She pushed herself in between the gauntlet of two smooth cotton dresses. A man stalled in front of her like a rock in a river had her pause for a moment, before she was pushed onto him. She smelled the cinnamon scent of his perfume, while the crowd shoved her around him. A quick hand out of nowhere groped her boob for a moment before disappearing into anonymity. She took a sharp breath from the rush of sensation.

A space in the crowd let her seize up what was in front of her. A scrawny little dog looked up at her with sweet black eyes. The tail of the beige dog wagged wildly. A blemished turnip was beneath its paw. The dog picked up the turnip in its mouth with black lips and disappeared into the maze of legs. Then, the ocean of backs filled her vision again.

An elbow hit her face unpleasantly. "Ana as'fi," said a trailing voice. Her nose felt wet. She touched the nose, while clutching onto the shopping bag. There was no blood. A vendor noticed her pause and tried to reach his arm to her with a wedge of an orange, "free sample, extra juicy."

At the side of the sea fish stand, she found refuge from the stream of bodies. The fish had stood in the summer heat for half day already. The smell was overwhelmingly intense. The fish butcher hit his cleaver onto the wood board over and over. The loud banging cut through the general market noise. A customer was hooked. The cleaver severed the tail and head uncleanly. Within a second the fish landed in a plastic bag with a handful of bloodied ice. A few bills changed hands.

Delal entered the outdoor stairs wedged between two buildings. A round portal let her enter the second floor store room. An elegant round Arabian carpet lied in the middle of the room. A colorful pattern of symbols had been woven into it. Lounge chairs made from bamboo offered the customers a chance to recline and sample the product. Water color paintings of ancient Mesopotamia and its riches illustrated the walls of the room.

"Delal, how nice to see you! Are you here to buy any fine coffee, cigars, or tea? Oh, you want to see Baban. Just go on to the back."

The large chested man with the elegant striped Oxford shirt smiled warm. The hair product in his hair was glistening in the light. He breathed easy. His face was well rested. Perhaps, there was even a hint of smudged mascara around his eyes. He stood proud turning the golden wedding ring on his hand like it was a special prize.

Delal smiled silently. She ducked a short bow and hurried with little steps into the backroom. The doorway was covered with pearl strings of varying color. The backroom was a basic kitchen with a functional dining table. The whole merchant family lived here. A pot with a simmering stew was on the stove.

At the dining table sat Baban. He was a skinny white haired medium tall man. His arms were tight by his side. He was leaning forward to hold the short tobacco pipe in his mouth. His face had two prominent creases down the front of his cheeks. The pants and shirts looked like they were two numbers too large and kept in place by a belt tightened two notches two tight.