The Caliphate, André Gallo [best books to read ever .TXT] 📗

glasses. Under the shelf was a small refrigerator with silverware scattered on it as if Faridah’s mother had been interrupted in the act of putting them away. Kella assumed there was a sink next to the refrigerator but she couldn’t see it.

     Hamad shouted, “I know that as soon as you got on the Metro, you took off your scarf. You went to the Ile de la Cité and met your Christian devil. You touched and kissed in public. I know you’ve done more. And with an infidel! The neighbors know and talk about it. It shames us!” Kella had originally assumed that Hamad simply wanted to protect a daughter for whom he cared. Instead, Hamad’s rantings reflected more concern about what others thought about him. Should she step forward and make her presence known? She was undecided.

    In a weak, pleading voice, the woman said, “She is your daughter. For the love of Allah, have pity on your flesh and blood.”

     She sounded upset, but not surprised. Kella wasn’t catching every word of the woman’s high pitched and rapid appeal. Kella guessed that much of the woman’s speech was in a Berber dialect, from the Kabyle Mountains of Algeria.

     Still holding Faridah’s wrist, Hamad turned toward his wife now on her feet and approaching him. Fearfully, she brought her arms up to protect her head.

     “Fatima, our daughter, may she be forever damned, has soiled our flesh and blood. You know what I must do. It is Allah’s will.”

     “Allah would have pity,” Fatima replied in a weak voice.

Kella drew closer. She noticed that Faridah’s mother was looking at the top of the refrigerator and Kella now could see a large knife lying apart from the silverware.

     Hamad’s voice grew louder. “You whore! You’ve disgraced us, dishonored me and the whole family!”

    He pulled Faridah’s arm hard toward him and she lost her balance as Hamad let go of her wrist.

     “Filth!” he shouted as she sprawled on the discolored linoleum floor of the kitchen.

     Kella’s thoughts raced. What could she do? She looked for something she might use as a weapon, something to hit him with, but she saw nothing. She wished that Steve were here. She didn’t move, paralyzed by the fear that she might make things worse for Faridah. She looked at Fatima, trying to judge whether the two of them together could help Faridah. But, at that moment, Hamad, his eyes fixed on his wife, turned away from her. He then quickly rotated his muscular shoulders back toward her and, clenching his fist, whipped his right elbow like a piston into her chest. The blow knocked Fatima to the floor.

     He returned his focus to Faridah and kicked her in the stomach as she tried to get up. She fell again and brought her legs up and wrapped her arms around her body trying to make herself as small as possible. Hamad aimed his next kick to her head, which started a slow trickle of blood down her cheek. His strength increased by his wrath, he stood her up and pushed Faridah back until she was wedged against the waist-high refrigerator. She leaned away from him and to the side to avoid the shelf in back of her. For an instant she uncovered her face to look at her mother. Kella felt guilty. Was Faridah looking for her? The blood from her scalp continued to flow down her face mixing with the tears, and onto her clothes. There was blood on the floor.

     “You’re insane! Stop it!” Faridah shrieked.

     “You’re going back to Algeria, tomorrow!” Hamad said, his voice viciously calm. “You’ll spend the rest of your days atoning.”

     Thrusting her hands out, Faridah tried to keep Hamad at bay.

     “Never! I’ll never go back there!”

     Hamad froze, struck by his daughter’s statement. Like a boxer in training, he struck her head and arms with his fists as she tried to protect herself. Faridah let out a piteous wail and, unable to move away in any direction, leaned her upper body back until her head touched the wall behind the refrigerator. Then, pressing her back with his left forearm, Hamad reached behind Faridah for the knife on the refrigerator. Kella saw his rage subside and another quieter but more menacing emotion took over.

     As Hamad raised the knife, Kella sprang forward, no longer able to stand by. She seized his arm from the side with both hands. Surprised, Hamad lifted his foot and tried to kick Kella’s knee. But she was too close. With his knife hand still up over Faridah, he swung his left fist into Kella’s stomach, hitting the nerve center of the solar plexus. She dropped her hands to her stomach, unable to breathe. Aware that she was now extremely vulnerable, she backed off, still doubled over and breathing in short gasps. Still bent over, she looked up at Hamad terrified that he would attack her but he refocused on Faridah. With a violent swing of the knife, he slashed Faridah’s shoulder. Her blood sprayed his shirt.

     “Allahu Akbar,” he said in a loud voice.

     Again, he raised the knife, but Fatima sprang up and hit him with her fists. He shoved her aside. Then, Hamad brought the knife slowly and deliberately over his head with both hands, chanting, “Allahu Akbar,” a sacrifice to his God, and plunged the blade into Faridah’s chest, again and again, each powerful thrust accompanied by its own “God is Great!”

     Kella forced out a scream of horror. To her ears it sounded like a weak squeal. Taking as deep a breath as she could, she managed a louder, “Murderer!”

     Hamad pushed Fatima away and turned toward Kella, the knife still in his hand, blood on his shirt. Their eyes met. She felt the hatred and rage burn into her soul. Acting