Katyusha Babies

The dust got washed off their clothes. The water turned their clothes darker. The wet clothes pulled down and became clingy to their figures. However, even with wet clothes, the figures of their bodies were still covered under the multiple layers of thick fabric. They started gossiping.

BACKFLASH: MERYEM AT THE DOCTOR

The sun was blisteringly hot and bright like every summer day. The women and men sat on both sides of the outside stairs. They were covered in full length dresses and shirts that had ample space underneath for cool air to gather. At least the building threw shade onto the sullenly desperately waiting figures. One could only see hands and faces under hoods and turbans. There was no way of telling what diseases were hiding beneath the cover, except for an occasional cough or pain winze.

The outside stairs to the second floor of the blocky, white Kurdish residential house were the waiting room for the doctor. Ever since the takeover of Muslim political movements, the social organization had crumbled. Large organizations had disappeared, like hospitals. Doctors had taken to set up practices in their houses. That was, if they weren't too intimidated to compete with prayer treatment and rites by local Imam's.

Meryem was a quiet girl. Her face beneath the olive skin pigments was pale from chronic pain. She was pretty small, if you knew how much beneath the bulky dress and head cover was fluff. Her mother lovingly called her 'my little mermaid.' The mother held her hand to comfort her, yet did not dare a full hug anymore. Meryem was nineteen years old.

Her back rested against the thin metal sticks of the hand rail. Her feet were pulled up to her butt on the raw untreated concrete. A middle aged man was opposite to her. The man fanned his face with a piece of paper. His other hand rested on the opening of a pot, where the plant in it had long ago withered and been removed. He wore brown sandals, the only colorful clothing in the whole throng of waiting patients.

A woman with a large behind that was so large that the mass showed through the multiple layers of white fabric wrapped around her body stepped out of the door. Everyone ruffled their feet to create a bit more space for her to step down. Faces waiting became alive to see her angelic and relieved face passing them by. The door remained open for Meryem and her mother.

The doctor's room had square vinyl tiles with black lines painted in between them. Square, smallish windows were in the center of the walls filling the room with bright light. The doctor in the white medical coat, waved Meryem to sit down on the patient chair. It was a small chair with a little padding and skinny wood pieces. There was no treatment table, only a commode filled with wraps and medicine single serving pouches.

The doctor looked at Meryem. His head was shaven to the level of a thin salt and pepper fur. Deep wrinkles from age ran through the face of the trim man. The eyes were widened from taking in a lot of patient stories and attentively listening and observing the patients. A wooden spatula was ready in his hand to check the inside of a throat.

"My daughter Meryem has peripheral neuropathy. She is in so much pain every day. And, she just started college. She needs to be able to study."

"Ah, one of the last scientific souls in this city! Let's see, if we can help her."

He pushed the dress up and over her knees. He felt her knee. Then, he tapped the knee to check for a reflex. He ran a pin wheel across the perfect youthful skin. He shrugged his shoulders. He moved the glasses up his nose.

"Meryem, I am sorry. Without laboratory tests, we cannot do anything. I am afraid that humanity has failed you. We never figured out the particular enzymes that your body lacks. Whatever knowledge we had on the path to a cure has been lost in the looting and decay of our society. I have a packet of aspirin to make the pain a little milder. Though, you will still feel the pain through the blanket of analgesic."

Meryem walked out of the doctor's office dejected. There was no hope, only days of suffering ahead of her. Why couldn't she have a lethal disease that would shorten her day, yet leave her with a few unbridled, joyful days, so that she could at least live for a bit.

STORY CONTINUES

Back at the bus remained the German Klaus, the strictly religious Abda, and the quiet Meryem. Klaus was kneeling on the floor bowing forward repeatedly. Meryem and Abda had settled to sit on the bus stairs side by side. The scene was very peaceful. A few large oak canopies provided them with refreshing shadow. A soft late afternoon wind eased up the air. Glorious mountain tops surrounded the lake from all sides.

Pekhat, the teacher, slowly walked toward them from the tip of the turn. He plugged away little leaves and dust from his teacher vest. His face looked satisfied. From the tip of the turn, he could see both bays and everyone had made it down safely, except for the three students back at the bus.

"I know why Klaus is still up here. He is doing the traveling rites. However, I have no clue, why you two ladies don't have fun down there."

"As you can see on my traditional clothes, my father is very strict with the pious dress code. I have so many layers of clothing that they will take days to dry and I will get sick," said Abda.

"Abda, I respect your father and where he is coming from. But, Meryem, you are always so quiet. What is your reason?"

"I am in terrible pain. I have Peripheral Neuropathy. All the nerves in my pain are hurting, as I were being skinned alive. My body has an enzyme lacking that makes all the nerves deteriorate. That's why I would just like to sit here and hope that the bout of pain leaves soon."

"Very well, Meryem. I will check back on everyone to make sure that nobody drowns."

Pekhat walked away with pep in his step. A class trip was the highlight for Pekhat. Klaus slowly raised his torso to sit on his heels. He looked at Meryem questioning. Meryem's face was pale beneath her olive light gray skin. Her face was large, like a diamond. Her eye brows were full. Her eyes and knows showed classical Mediterranean beauty. Abda was poking around a nut in the lowest stair of the bus.

"Meryem, you were the only one in the bus kind to me during the water episode."

"Oh, I know how painful embarrassment can be. I don't want anyone to go through that."

Klaus looked down for a moment to steady is conviction to speak a secret.

"I was born in the West. I have learned a medical technique called acupuncture. It may help your pain. Please, don't tell anyone. I could easily be beheaded for being a Western influence."

Klaus' and Meryem's eyes locked. They were exchanging how safe and trustworthy they could be with each other. Meryem's eyes became watery from the pain and memories of often disappointed hope on a cure.

"Okay, Klaus, how does it work?"

"There are special points on your body that can influence the energies in your body. My finger tips will touch you in those places. And, I will move the energy."

"Okay."

Klaus carefully moved up the side of Meryem. Then, he reached his hand to the back of her neck. He felt the smooth young skin. Then, his fingers followed the bumps of the vertabraes down to the seventh cervical vertebra. That is a point larger than the others. From there he found the point DU-14. He closed his eyes and consciously breathed. His touch was so subtle to only touch the very thin skin without pushing down to the bone.

Meryem felt the first male touching her in her grown up life. The male finger felt rougher than a woman. There was so much more strength and authority behind Klaus' movement in her intimate space than that of her mother. Her heart started beating from feeling his manly breath and smelling his body odor. There was the risk of getting caught. Everything around her turned a little more glassy and surreal.

"My father beats me. Everyone deserves a secret without punishment. I will be the watchout," said Abda. She got up, stepped a few steps into the dirt off the road. She faced the direction of the teacher.

Meryem felt a tingling at the back of her head. Then, waves of goose bumps spread over her skin like fast crawling insects. Her forehead tightened with a tension headache that pulled into one tight spot. She took a deep inhale. And, suddenly all the pain and everything fell off. She felt excited and exuberant. She stood up. She thanked Klaus.

Meryem's eyes glanced over his cheek, nose and focused on the short blond stubble facial hair. His skin tone and pores were so different from the people she knew. She broke of her glance, when his thin lips started a smile.

"Klaus, what are your plans for the first college year? Are you going to join any of the secret societies?"

"There are secret societies. It does not sound like anything an Islam convert could join without getting into trouble and false accusations."

"It's an old Kurdish tradition. Our whole lives are ruled by tradition, religion, and restrictions. However, during college, we are allowed to join secret clubs. Everything is fine, as long as nobody finds out. You could do a secret acupuncture club."

"Meryem, you are kind and reckless at the same time. Imam Abu Dawood is going to have me publicly killed, if he founds out what I did to you."

Abda joined them, "It is true. Even I have heard about it. Yesterday, I took one of the number fliers home. You know the fliers that have only random numbers? It is actually a very simple code. My mother and I use a similar code to keep secrets from my father. Father can have bad tempers. And, he is very afraid of not being religious enough. He thinks that is the reason that he can't find a job."

Abda continued, "You simply take the alphabet and assign every letter a number. During one of my dull afternoons at home, when I am not allowed to go outside, it is an easy way to kill time."

"What did the flyer say?" asked Meryem.

Abda continued, "Sadiman is starting an alcohol club in the basement of the college. He has plans for a distilling device, rites, and everything. You know how highly forbidden alcohol is and how funny it makes people behave."

They were silent for a moment. In the distance, they heard a rumbling like large trash cans being dragged over uneven ground mixed with thunders of lightning. It paused and continued. Pekhat came running with an animated face.

"The artillery is shelling the last American holdout. What you here is not too far, the shelling of the Shanidar Cave system. The last surviving Americans have holed out there. You are witnessing history. We have those infidels soon extinguished like a cockroach under our heel. I have read about it in the paper before we left."

Klaus lowered his gaze and spoke through his teeth: "Death to the infidel."

BACKFLASH: KLAUS' CONVERSION

The room had narrow and tall doors typical of Germany. The tables and chairs were also a little narrower and a little taller. The light switch for the weak overhead light fixture was squarer as well. The table was neatly decked with a white table cloth hanging precisely 10 centimeters over the edge. The place mats and napkins were aligned to their perfect place.

Klaus' father sat at the head of the table. The head was buried into his palms. The elbows were resting on the table. The father wore a freshly ironed flannel shirt with diagonal lines. Of course the shirt was tucked into pants with a neat black belt. Over it, he wore a wool vest with light turquoise and pink squares. The glasses with the black flames lay turned over on the table in front of him.

"No. No. No. My conscience does not allow me to do what is not in my heart. Some reason must remain."

The mother sat at the side of the table with her spine erect. Her fingers moved along the edge of the place mat inch by inch. Her hair was long, straight with a rough surface and the occasional gray hair in between. The lips were painted tastefully pink. Her eyes sunk into the creases with sorrow.

"Karl some things have to be approached fluidly, especially when they are as wrong as these."

Klaus was hiding behind the frame of the open kitchen door. He held a hammer low at his right side and ready to swing. He was a tall, muscular, blond teenager. The veins on his lower arm popped out from the tense position. His pressed lips occasionally hissed air out to relieve the tense mental pressure. His haircut was fashionable and youthful. On the kitchen counter were two sharp knifes laid ready to grab.

The silence and immobile position remained for easily an hour. However, the time was forgotten in the blink of a moment, when the door was battered in by heavy boots. Syrian soldiers dressed in black stormed into the small room five men strong. They poked their rifle tips into every door and closet. They threatened the rifle butts at the family.

Outnumbered, Klaus let the hammer fall to the floor. He joined his parents lined up against the white wall with the family photos in little frames. There were the memories of him growing up, of summer vacations, of relatives, and all of that was gone forever. His eyes lingered for a second on the colorful beach ball from a summer vacation at the North Sea. There he had seen a pretty girl that he had spun love stories about for the rest of the summer.

Karl had a red face. His shirt was pulled out of his pants. He silently muttered 'pant shitters.' He had looked at the pants of the soldiers. The butt of the pant was hanging down without filling the pants with a juicy ass. 'Pant shitters, can't wear real pants.'

The commander was marked by a cap with a sun visor instead of a helmet like everyone else. The commander strutted into the room with a mustache like Hitler's, if Hitler had forgotten to groom it for two weeks. He grabbed Karl by the neck and thrust him on the floor.

"Will you convert to Islam?"

"No, I cannot in clear conscience say yes, because Islam like any religion is a bunch of baloney. I live by my own code. And, that code forbids to me to lie."

"Oh, Karl would very much like to convert to Islam, please forgive his rash tongue," cried mother.

The commander scratched his head. He was not familiar with this situation. "No, he has to say it. You can't say it for him."

"Sir, I have told you where I stand. I respect your religious belief. We can have a cup of coffee with exquisite plum tarts. We can be friends. I might even become enlightened to your religion tomorrow. However, today, my answer is a firm 'no.'"

"So, I will take your hand for Allah!"

A soldier at the ready, a young bug eyed looking man, lurched forward and pulled Karl's wrist across the table. A burly full bearded soldier raised a red fireman's axe over his head. Mother jumped onto her knees to lay her arm protectively over her husbands. The bearded soldier's arms with rolled up sleeves hit down without mercy. Both limbs were cleanly severed in the middle of the lower arm. Blood splattered onto the crisp white table cloth. The lack of arterial blood surging out was the only difference to horror movies on TV.

"You bloody bastards did not have to cut off my wife's arm."

"Argh, your vile tongue shall belong to Allah as well," yelled the commander with his head shaking violently. The commander took a nine inch blade out of his front pocket. The commander struggled to get a hold onto the tongue. Not so much from Karl's resistance but the natural pain reflex, it was hard to get a hold. So, the blade cut into lips, face, cheeks, and tongue. Blood splattered all over the commander's hand, sleeves, and face.

Klaus dropped to his knees at the feet of the commander: "Powerful commander, how long have I waited for you to come and free me from this oppressive man. My heart longs to become a Muslim. Nothing would make my heart beat higher than bowing at your side in prayer to Allah. Please, make me Muslim. I cannot wait any longer. Forgive my burning desire for the love of god cannot be tame."

The commander let go of the butchered tongue separation. His eyes looked confused. He looked at his underlings for advice. They tried to hold their guns firmer to look tough and avoided his glances. With his hands soaked in Karl's blood, the commander threw up his arms.

"Take him. We got what we needed. You are a Muslim now."

Karl has never seen his parents again. Presumably, they converted a few days later or have long been dead.

STORY CONTINUES

All looked up, as a truck rumbled by. It was an old white Mercedes truck from forty years ago. The engine compartment bulged in front of the cabin like a nose. The truck bed had a enclosure of wooden boards built on it. The wood was bleached by the sun. The wooden boards had roughly been nailed together.

The truck bed was filled with women soldiers standing with their rifles at the side. They wore dark uniforms and red hats. One of the women sat on top of the truck passenger window. Her body was outside the truck cabin. She held onto the tuck. The wind played with the hair in her face. A machine gun was strapped to her back. She looked fierce ahead. The Pesmerge were known to be fierce fighters. They were often compared to Amazon fighters. They were on their way to mop up whatever the artillery shells had left bleeding to death.

After a minute of silence to take in the new perspective, the boys came running back up the steep lake slope. The dried dirt of the slope stuck to the front of their wet naked, nude bodies like paint. Feet and arms were deeply steeped in mud. Their chest had brush strokes from occasional stumbling. And, some of them had gotten the mud on their faces as well. Their clothes were waiting for them in little scattershot piles along the road. The white undies were in the center of the clothes nests.

The young women came in straggling minutes later. They were soaking wet with large mud clumps stuck to their clothes. They struggled with the slope and panted from the effort. Pekhat was instantly embarrassed about not having planned out the bath visit better. Having the chance for an impromptu lecture about final battle of the culture wars between Christianity and Islam was diminished. His face looked out over the lake instead of connecting with each every one as he usually did.

BACKFLASH: SADIMAN STARTS A SECRET ALCOHOL CLUB

Sadiman had faced the white brick wall turned light gray for a while. His eyes had traced the vertical grooves up and down. He had peered through the tiny pinholes in the wall without moving. Two ten-foot tall birch trees lined both sides of the wall section. The trunks had the typical pattern of white bark with light gray spots. The leaves were shimmering year round in a bright spring green. This was the shunned edge of the university's outdoor lunch area.

It was not the wall itself that made him hesitate. It was not exactly the students that made him hesitate. They had cleared out to their class rooms this late after noon. He shifted onto his other leg to give the standing leg a reprieve from the bones slowly sinking through the joint sockets. He took another deep breath into his chest constricted by tense muscles.

"Activity breeds prosperity," he mumbled in his head. He stepped off the concrete path into the dirt path with his shining brown leather shoes that screamed business. He taped his flyers among the other number flyers. University tradition had reserved this spot to paste flyers that were filled with numbers arranged into neat grids. These flyers were secret invitation into underground clubs. They violated Sharia law or tradition in some ways. It was an oddity, where tradition bestowed the right to break tradition.

The moment that he stepped backwards onto the concrete path, a strong hand grabbed his neck. Icy shock shivers shot down his spine. Every muscle in his body became rigid like a rock. The breath shot out of his mouth in a short punch. His last thought was that he was wearing his finest suit with slacks and pressed shirt to celebrate the first day of his new enterprise.