Caliphate полностью

As if I'd let my child be raised as an American! Never! Never! Never! Let my child be imbued with atavistic, virulent nationalism? Raised in a place so violent and lawless people keep guns?Never!

It's in everything they do. Six weeks ago Mahmoud made me go to an NFL Europe American football game, the Cologne Centurions playing the Frankfurt Galaxy. Our football allows for ties, it even prefers them. Not American football, though. They insist on fighting it out to the finish, with nothing but winners and losers. It's so wrong. And so typical.

Well, I have to run now. There's a demonstration scheduled by the Falterturm to remind the British that decent minded people will not tolerate them discriminating against their Moslems merely because some of those Moslems, prompted—I have no doubt—by racism, fought back.

I hope Mahmoud begins to see sense soon. My life would be blighted without him. I hope he knows that.

Chapter Nine

The open society is not threatened, it is in a state of dissolution. The date on which the unconditional surrender was announced can be exactly identified: It was the day that the fatwa was issued against Salman Rushdie and the European institutions and governments did NOT react with an immediate break in ALL ties to the Mullah-Regime. Instead those multi-culturally oriented knowers came out and explained to us why Rushdie would have done better not to provoke the mullahs.

Europe—Your Last Name is Appeasement!

—Henryk Broder, Welt am Sonntag, 14 November, 2004

Castle Noisvastei, Province of Baya, 22 Sha'ban,

1536 AH (18 June, 2112)

"Choose me, master," the exotic girl said, her eyes demurely downcast. "I will make it worth your while in more ways than the poets tell of."

"I don't know much about poetry, girl," Hans answered. "They give us little of it. And it seems—"

"Please choose me, master," the girl repeated. She looked up at Hans and said it again, but with a slightly different emphasis of tone. When Hans still didn't agree, the almond-eyed houri bit her lower lip and added, "In the name of God, choose me."

"All right, girl, since you're so insistent. But I can't promise much from me."

"It's not for you to promise, master, it is for me to."

The stop by the mullah for him to pronounce a properly contractual temporary marriage was brief. The only question was, "For how long?"

"Two days," the exotic girl had said, explaining to Hans, "You may tire of me after that, though I guarantee you will not before then."

Hans had agreed. What, after all, did he know about the heavenly delights of the houris?

Hans let the girl lead him upstairs, through several ornate halls, down a corridor and into a room furnished in ways he'd never imagined before, all hanging silks and rich wood. Once in the room she'd removed the diaphanous veil she'd worn across the lower half of her face. She was very beautiful, Hans thought. No . . . that wasn't strong enough. He had to admit to himself that he'd never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

The girl had sat him in a chair, then knelt to untie and remove his boots. The carpet on the floor felt amazingly plush and soft to Hans' march-hardened feet.

"Wait here," the girl had said. "I have a small surprise for you."

Impatiently, and with some small amount of bad grace, Hans had agreed. The girl slipped out silently through a side door.

A few minutes passed before Hans heard someone, not his exotique, saying, "No . . . I won't go . . . this is wrong . . . I said . . . "

A woman, tall and blond and, if anything, more beautiful than his temporary wife was pushed into the bedroom. She turned around and tried to push her way back but the door was blocked by the slender almond-eyed one. "Zheng Ling," she'd given her name as.

"Master," she said. "Meet your sister."

At that, the blond girl wailed and crumpled to the floor.

"In the name of God, what's wrong with her?" Hans asked frantically, while helping Ling move Petra's inert form to the bed.

"Mostly, she's ashamed," Ling answered.

"Of . . . oh."

"Oh."