Chapter 12: Not a Damned Clue!

September 29, 2001, Chicago, Illinois

🎤 Steve

“Well, that seals the deal,” I said to Kara and Jessica as we relaxed in the great room on Saturday afternoon after my mentoring session with Hope.

CNN had just reported that the Taliban ambassador to Pakistan had admitted that the Taliban were protecting Osama bin Laden in an unknown location in Afghanistan, and that despite their request to him to leave voluntarily, he had not done so, and that they would not force him to leave. They offered negotiations if the US could provide sufficient proof, in advance, of bin Laden’s involvement, something which the US declined to do.

“Ashcroft is pissed,” Jessica observed.

“If you think about it,” I proposed, “what the Taliban are saying is at least partly right. I mean we wouldn’t extradite someone from the US to the UK without the UK government providing credible evidence of guilt, let alone send someone to an unfriendly country like China.”

“So you’re saying going to war is unjustified?” Jessica asked.

“I’m going to make the same point I did about the Gulf War - a surgical strike that takes out the target, in that case, Saddam Hussein, in this case, Osama bin Laden, is one thing. A full-scale invasion is another thing altogether. And Afghanistan has the right to insist that we present proof of bin Laden’s involvement before they hand him over.

“Don’t you think he did it?” Kara asked.

“I haven’t seen the evidence, so I can’t say. But our government insists it has evidence. Well, if they do, show it to the entire world. What can it possibly harm? Even if it might reveal a source, so what? I’d rather some random snitch get one in the back of the neck than have my Navy friends put in harm’s way.”

“The good of the many?” Jessica asked.

“Something like that. But, really, I would be willing to wager pretty much anything that we could present sufficient evidence without revealing ‘sources and methods’. Well, assuming we have actual evidence, not just conjecture or hearsay.”

“So what would you do?”

“Locate the son of a bitch and have the SEALs terminate him with extreme prejudice. That doesn’t solve the problem, but it would put an end to him. I sure as hell wouldn’t inflict another war on the Afghan people NOR put tens of thousands of our troops at risk. SEALs sign up for this kind of thing, just as the Green Berets and Rangers do. It’s their job; let them do it.”

We stopped talking as CNN ran a report about a gunman who killed fourteen people on Saturday in Zug, Switzerland, before turning his gun on himself. He had killed three members of the «Regierungsräte», the local governing council, as well as eleven members of the «Kantonsräte», the Zug Canton Legislature. Another eighteen politicians and journalists had been injured. The shooter had left a suicide note referring to the canton government as the ‘Zug mafia’.

“That’s not something you’d expect in Switzerland,” Jessica observed.

“No, it’s not,” I agreed.

The doorbell rang just then.

“That will be Sarah,” I said. “We’ll go to the ‘Indian’ room; Leigh, Hope, Nicole, and Suzanne are in the study doing homework.”

“Jess and I will be in the sunroom cuddling.”

“I’ll deal with you two later!” I said, causing them to laugh.

“Dad?” Birgit called out, coming into the great room.

“Yes, Pumpkin?”

“Is it OK if I go across the street to see Fatimah?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have your scarf?” Kara asked.

“Yes,” Birgit replied, holding it up.

“Be home for dinner, please.”

“Yes, Mom.”

🎤 Birgit

Ugh! Of COURSE I had my scarf! I wasn’t a baby, and I knew I had to be home for dinner. Mom was super annoying and getting worse! Dad had just assumed I knew the rules and expected me to follow them, as well as expecting me to treat the Khans with respect, which, obviously, I would do. But I couldn’t show even the slightest bit of annoyance or frustration, or I’d hear about it from Mom.

“Bye!” I said.

“Bye, Pumpkin,” Dad replied.

I left the great room and went out the front door, stopping on our porch to put on my scarf. I went down the steps, looked to make sure there was no traffic, then walked across the street and then around the side of the Khans’ house. I opened the gate, then went to the back door and knocked. Fatimah let me in and we went to the kitchen to have tea and cookies.

“Do you think you could come to a party?” I asked.

“When?”

“I was thinking in two or three weeks. It’ll just be girls - my friends, Ashley’s friends, Stephie’s friends, some of the girls I call ‘cousins’, MC, and Suzanne. They’re the adults you can tell your mom will make sure everything is OK.”

“No boys?”

“No boys.”

“Let me ask my mother and father. I’ll be right back!”

She left and was back a few minutes later.

“My father will check with yours, but he said otherwise it would be OK, so long as there are no boys.”

“There won’t be; I promise. Can I ask you a question?”

“Yes.”

“If you never even talk with boys, how will you know how to talk to your husband?”

“What do you mean? My mother does what my father tells her to do, and answers his questions.”

“Don’t you think they speak in private? You know, a regular conversation like we’re having?”

“I don’t know, but I suppose I’ll find out. My mother will tell me the things I need to know.”

“You mean about,” I lowered my voice, “sex?”

“Yes,” Fatimah answered quietly. “She’ll tell me what I should know right before my wedding.”

“Wait!” I protested, still keeping my voice down, “you’re almost eighteen and never had sex education?”

“Why would I? My mother and my husband will tell me what I need to know.”

I wanted to bang my head on the table, but I knew I couldn’t do that, or anything else that might bother Fatimah. Instead, I took a sip of tea and ate a cookie to keep my mouth busy so I didn’t say something that would make her parents angry. But I felt I had to say something, I just didn’t know what. I munched my cookie and drank some more tea while I thought about it. I decided I could take a small chance.

“I could tell you,” I offered.

“But you’re thirteen and not married! How could you know?” Fatimah protested.

“I’ve known since I was little, like three or four. It’s no secret! I’m sure you changed your brother’s diaper, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then it should be pretty obvious,” I replied.

“We shouldn’t talk about that!” Fatimah protested.

“Sorry.”

I hoped she didn’t say anything to her parents, because Dad would seriously get on my case for being disrespectful, even if he agreed with me that it was wrong to not teach kids about sex.

“It’s OK,” Fatimah replied. “I know things are different here.”

“We can change the subject, but if you ever need to know anything, you can ask me and I promise I’ll never tell anyone. It could be our secret. Anyway, when will your dad decide what to do?”

“Soon, I think. He says if the US goes to war with Afghanistan, things will get worse, and that it would be safer for us to go home.”

“Dad is pretty sure we’re going to invade them in the next two weeks. A bunch of our friends in the Navy have received new assignments, but mostly their jobs are to move supplies or give advice. There are even some girls.”

“And they give orders to men? And the men follow them?”

“Duh!” I declared without thinking. “Uhm, sorry. Yes. Just like my dad’s company, which is run by women; everyone does what they say.”

“But he’s the owner, right?”

“He is, but he wants to program computers, not run the company. His sister, who you’ve met, runs it for him, along with my Aunt Elyse, who is mother to my brothers Matthew and Michael, and my Aunts Cindi and Julia, who aren’t really aunts, just close friends to my parents, like my Aunt Kathy, Aunt Bethany, and Aunt Melanie.”

“The one who is mother to your brothers, why doesn’t she live with your dad if she’s his wife?”

“She’s not, at least not the way you mean. She used to live with us, but she wants to have a nice house in the suburbs with a big yard, not live in the city. So she lives with her boyfriend.”

“And your father is OK with that?”

“Why wouldn’t he be?”

“Because she took his boys! They should live with their father!”

“Dad’s OK with it, and we see them all the time.”

“But his other three wives live with him, right?”

“Yes, though they don’t call Suzanne a wife, either. She’s his girlfriend, though I guess you could call her a ‘junior wife’, if you wanted.”

“That’s not normal here.”

“No, it’s not. Does it happen a lot in Saudi Arabia?”

“It does happen, especially among the Royal Family and rich men, though it’s becoming less common. When I was little, I knew women who were part of a marriage like that, but none of my friends who married have that situation. First, the senior wife has to agree, and I know my mother would never do that. Yours did, obviously.”

“They all married at the same time.”

“But your mother is Senior Wife, right?”

“Now. It used to be Aunt Elyse, even though they didn’t even pretend to marry. When Elyse moved out it took some time before my mom became Senior Wife. And my other mom, the medical doctor, is my dad’s legal wife.”

“Why would she give up the role of Senior Wife?”

“As dad likes to say, it’s complicated. But everything about our family is complicated!”

“I heard one of the women you call your aunt, the redheaded one...”

“Aunt Kathy,” I interrupted.

“Yes, her. She said something that confused me. You have a Russian bath which men and women use together?”

“You mean the sauna? What our Russian friends call a «banya»? Yes.”

“I don’t understand how you can be so immodest. Only your husband should ever see you.”

“Too late,” I giggled. “Uhm, sorry. But Dad says there is nothing to be ashamed about and nobody behaves badly.”

“It’s all very strange. I would think that the US, which has so many People of the Book, would practice modesty and purity.”

“I think it used to be more like you say, but never that strict. Americans believe freedom is more important, though as Dad says, too many people have forgotten that. And we have people who are trying to enforce what you call modesty and purity, but it has to be up to me, not anyone else.”

“Not your father?”

I wanted to laugh, but I didn’t.

“If I were to ask my dad about doing anything like that, he’d tell me it was up to me and allow me to do it if I chose to.”

“He’d really let you just, well, uhm, make yourself impure?”

“I know what you mean, so yes, though we don’t see it that way. And you should get to choose, not your dad.”

“Shh,” Fatimah responded. “Don’t say that out loud. We could get in very serious trouble.”

“Sorry.”

“How are the cookies and the tea?” Mrs. Khan asked, coming into the kitchen, as if to show Fatimah was right to be concerned.

“Very good, Mrs. Khan,” I replied effusively. “Thank you!”

She sat down, which pretty much meant the end of my conversation with Fatimah.

🎤 Steve

“I just don’t think it’s right,” Sarah protested. “Why do my beliefs have to take a back seat?”

“They don’t,” I replied. “Remember what I said - you’re free to hold them and express them, but they aren’t compatible with being mentored by me, or being one of my private karate students.”

“But I’ll be ridiculed and attacked for what I believe.”

I shook my head, “No, you won’t. Well, unless you consider being challenged an attack. Patricia has firmly held Roman Catholic beliefs, as did my friend Jorge. Nobody ridicules them or attacks them, well, in the past, in Jorge’s case.”

“That’s not how it seems! And I know for a fact that Elizabeth got on my sister’s case a LOT.”

“Yes, she did,” I acknowledged. “And guess who changed more? Elizabeth. Michelle is the most conservative Christian I know, and the most devout, and that hasn’t changed. Elizabeth, on the other hand, is no longer a hard-core atheist who believes in pure determinism. Fundamentally, if your faith can’t stand up to critical analysis, and you can’t even accept the idea of reading material which might challenge your faith, then I’d strongly advise against even coming to the Philosophy Club meetings. I’m not telling you not to, but you will be frustrated and upset.

“What about Becka?”

“What about her?” I asked. “All we did is insist she not be judgmental and not harangue people at my house. I get to make the rules for my house, just like every other person does for their house, and the kind of abusive, holier-than-thou behavior in which she was engaging was not something I’d tolerate. It wasn’t about her beliefs or her faith, but about her behavior. I never told her to stop believing, or even stop judging. What I did tell her was that she had to choose between being at my house and behaving like a sanctimonious, self-righteous bitch.

“That said, I also challenged her faith, and pointed her to her own Scriptures which I found to be incompatible with the version of Christianity she was espousing. After some reflection, and some discussion, she decided that she’d gone down the wrong path and chose to open her mind to new possibilities. But that was her decision; I didn’t force her into it or demand she change.”

“Sure you did!” Sarah protested. “You banned her from your house if she didn’t!”

“See, nobody has a right to be here, on my property, unless I allow it. The same is actually true for the dojo, or any other private property. I’m sure you’ve seen the signs which read ‘No shoes. No shirt. No service.’ which define the rules for being able to be in the store or restaurant. Or the dress code of private clubs. Or the rules that UofC has in place. My rules are actually much simpler - have an open mind and be willing to defend your views.

“And lest you think I’m somehow anti-Christian, I’ll point out that my eldest son is an active participant in the same church as your sister, albeit he does have to miss some services because of ice hockey. I took him there and he elected to be baptized and chrismated. I would never, ever, stand in his way. And he’s perfectly able to defend his faith, just as your sister is. And I respect that. Michelle read many of the books on my shelf, and the Orthodox Christian ones spoke to her. But she didn’t shy away from the other books.

“I know you don’t like it, but the price of admission for what you want is an acceptance of the conditions I set; conditions which all my other karate students and my mentees have accepted. If you can’t accept them, then you can’t be my student and I can’t mentor you. The other options I offered have a minimal condition - an open mind and a willingness to address questions or criticisms of your beliefs. And not just about religion, but about everything.

“To have a truly open mind means to question everything, including yourself. And questioning yourself is the beginning of wisdom. Until you can do that, there is literally nothing I can teach you. OK, that’s not entirely accurate - I can teach you calculus, or computers, or even karate, but anyone can do that, and, in fact, they will, so long as you abide by the precepts of the dojo. But, even that can only take you so far.”

“You just said I had to give up my beliefs!”

“You’re not listening,” I replied, mildly annoyed. “I said you had to question your beliefs. Maybe you’ll find them sufficient; maybe you’ll find them lacking. Whatever you find, though, will be progress. And I’m going to give you your first challenge. You’ve objected to reading a Buddhist text because you’re Roman Catholic. But in that very same conversation, you proposed committing adultery, something which is not just a mortal sin to the Catholic Church, but a violation of the Ten Commandments in the Old Testament. I’m very, very curious how you can reconcile all of that in your mind.”

“I’ll come back to that, but you actually said Christianity was incompatible with what you were going to teach me!”

“Yes, it is; well, Western Christianity, which is what you practice. How YOU reconcile that incompatibility is up to you. It is entirely possible to espouse two contradictory views which are both true. Your job, then, is to find a synthesis that works for you. Maybe you won’t, and then you’ll have to reevaluate your thinking. I can sum up the starting point with two simple phrases, both of which contain apparently contradictory statements - ‘Not knowing is the beginning of wisdom’ and ‘Confusion is the beginning of clarity’.”

“Those don’t make sense!”

“On the contrary,” I replied. “They make perfect sense, and I’ll be happy to help you understand them IF you accept the conditions I place on my teaching. So, back to my question?”

“Why do you care? You don’t think it would be a sin.”

“You’re right; I don’t. But YOU do and that’s what really matters here. Have you actually thought it completely through?”

“As in?”

“Well, the first obvious question is, would you go to confession afterwards?”

“I pretty much have to. You pointed out it’s a mortal sin.”

“So, you’d confess and that would wipe the slate clean?”

“In the sense of not going to hell? Yes.”

“You don’t see the problem with that?”

“What problem?”

“To be absolved, you’re supposed to repent. To repent, you have to truly regret your actions, with an intent to never repeat them. The problem is, you are planning to intentionally commit a sin, with the intent of asking for absolution. I don’t see any way there can be true repentance, nor regret, if your entire plan is to basically treat confession like a car wash or, perhaps more accurately, a ‘get out of hell free’ card.