Chapter 9

The hashish traders were undoubtedly as nasty as Basheera and the other women described. They were a mean looking lot, heavily armed and openly contemptuous. There were six of them, and they arrived in two vehicles. Four men exited a Land Rover, while two sat in a three-quarter ton truck. Two of the four from the Land Rover were heavily armed guards, who took up a position behind the Land Rover, facing the house.

Fatima and Tahani bolted down to the basement and crawled through the tunnel to the equipment shed. Tahani had one of the AK-47s and three magazines. Fatima grabbed the Tokarev pistol. Through a gun port we’d made in the shed door, Tahani had a perfect view of the guards’ back and the men in the truck. Basheera greeted the traders, formally introducing me as Hassan’s nephew, as we had rehearsed dozens of times. After handshakes, we sat down for tea, another formality that made the trading seem almost a ritual. I sent Jamilah and Kalila out to the greenhouses to get the hash and marijuana stacked at the door. I didn’t have to tell them to grab the AKs stashed out there or to hide in the places we’d picked. Zahrah sat out of sight at the top of the basement stairs with the AKM.

After about twenty minutes of small talk that I was thankfully able to keep up with, the leader of the group asked how much product we had to sell. I said we had twenty-eight kilos of resin and twenty-five kilos of very high-grade marijuana. I then asked him what currency we were dealing in tonight. The type of currency was a major consideration for us because of exchange rates. We wanted at least two hundred fifty dollars US for a kilo of resin and fifty dollars for a kilo of marijuana. Two hundred fifty dollars equaled about four hundred thousand Iraqi dinars but only one hundred seventy-five Jordanian dinars. In the unlikely event the traders offered us gold or dollars, we’d negotiate down to two hundred twenty-five dollars a kilo.

We had rehearsed the negotiations as much as we had my cover story. When the leader of the traders said he had Jordanian dinar I asked for two hundred twenty dinars a kilo for the hash and sixty-five for a kilo of the grass. The trader explained that he had to pay a large bribe to Sheik Omar in the form of product and he couldn’t pay those prices. That’s when negotiations began in earnest. After a spirited debate, we settled on one hundred eighty dinars a kilo for the resin and fifty dinars a kilo for the pot. We did have to give the traders five kilos of each as tribute for Sheik Omar. The six kilos of resin we found in the room under the shed just about paid Omar’s tribute, so we netted a little over seven thousand dollars. Seven thousand dollars would keep the farm running for over a year, even if we didn’t sell a single tomato.

The exchange of money and drugs went smoothly. We did hit a rough patch when the leader of the traders commented on our not having any marijuana plants growing. We glossed that over with an explanation that Hassan was leery of the new Iraqi government’s vow to crack down on drug trafficking. I said we would be planting as soon as it was deemed safe to do so. The leader nodded his understanding and commented that it was getting harder to cross the border into Jordan or Syria for the same reason. He said the Americans were patrolling the border with helicopters and troops very aggressively.

When the traders departed with their dope, I heaved a sigh of relief. We were going to stay alert for the rest of the evening, but Basheera doubted the traders would return to take back their money. The resin and marijuana to dilute it with had a street value of close to a million dollars, so they would be intent on getting it out of the country immediately. After an hour, I went to the shed and greenhouses to gather up the women there. Basheera was very pleased with the results of our trading. She said that the Jordanian dinar was prized in the market and was worth much more than its official exchange rate.

The women decided I was the hero of the day, and I received bunches of kisses, even though I hadn’t done anything they hadn’t trained me to do. Tahani was my shower partner and bunkmate that night and the excitement of the evening made her even hotter than usual. Tahani had morphed into something spectacular after she had her first taste of real lovemaking. She became the most daring of the women. She asked questions about sex and was always willing to try something new. She was also the most demonstrative of the wives in showing me affection. Tahani made no bones about the fact that she loved me, in bed and out of it.

The night of the hashish trading, I paid plenty of attention to her ass. Tahani was super receptive to everything I did. Tahani and I were working up to anal sex. We both knew it was only a matter of time before we tried it. We both enjoyed doing it like doggies because I could play with her ass while we were joined. Tahani went crazy when I sawed my finger in her ass while stroking her hot little box with my dick.

By the end of the sixth week after my plane had been shot down, we finally finished making the changes we wanted with the farm. The only area that wasn’t as we envisioned was the date palm grove. We were only able to find enough small trees to plant another two acres instead of six. Most of the fifty chicks, twelve hens and two roosters Basheera had purchased were still alive and our expanded chicken house now had four hens sitting on clutches of eggs. Fatima and Tahani spent a lot of time caring for the chicks to insure they survived. Our egg production from the eighteen adult hens we had was damned good considering the heat. A lot of that success was from the lean-tos we built in each of the grazing plots. We had installed roosts in the lean-tos for the chickens that allowed the goats to still use them for shade also.

We had doubled the size of the outside gardens and had dozens of tomato, pepper and strawberry plants growing in the greenhouses. I had given Basheera the idea for growing strawberries, along with the notion we should try canning some jelly and tomato sauce. Some of the women were making at least three trips a week to town now for supplies and equipment. Every trip to town saw the women increase our stockpile of canning jars, seals and lids.

And on every trip to town, the women brought me more information about the activities of the wily Sheik Omar. Fatima had found an old 1:250000 scale geo survey map of the area and I began plotting the locations of Omar’s assets, based on the gossip the women were bringing me from town. The very best information we received was also gossip, but it was from the soldiers who dropped by every week to collect vegetables from the women. The soldiers were not hesitant in the least about boasting about the might of their forces. They bragged about how Omar had them conducting raids and bombings far to the east. They also told of the many foreign militants and fanatics that joined them daily. The soldiers were leery of the fanatics but the money they brought the cause was most welcome.

I hid in the basement, in the cubbyhole behind the shelves, during the soldier’s visits. It was a pain in the ass to have to give the soldiers food we’d worked hard to produce, but thankfully they took what was offered and didn’t demand more. Basheera was a master at making it look as if she was giving them much more than she really was. Kalila hid out with me on the days the soldiers visited. Basheera covered her absence by telling the jahadists that Kalila was tending to her sick grandmother in al Rabat.

It was during my seventh week, in the evening after the soldiers visited, that marriage came up. Tahani was the one who started the conversation by saying, even without a marriage contract, she considered me her husband. The other widows quickly avowed the same thing. As I sat there looking at them, I kind of felt that way also. In what way was I not their husband except for a contract?

“I feel as all of you do, but what can we do about it?” I asked.

Basheera and Jamilah pounced on the opening I gave them.

“We think we know a way for us to be able to stay with you Habib (beloved), a way that is even legal. You could marry Fatima, Tahani, Kalila and Zahrah,” Basheera said.

At my stunned look, Jamilah jumped in, “Basheera would be your widowed mother-in-law, while I am your servant along with my unmarriable daughter.”

I was speechless for a second, then looked around at all the women. They were looking back at me expectantly.

“Do all of you feel the same way?” I asked.

They all answered positively to the affirmative. I let out my breath and sat back on my cushion.

“I don’t think I can do that,” I said. “Not because I don’t love any of you, in fact, the opposite is true. I love all of you and couldn’t bear being without Basheera, Jamilah or Adara. Why can’t I just marry all of you and be done with it?”

Jamilah hugged and kissed me wearing a huge smile.

“Because, Neeko, the Qur’an specifies the laws regarding Ziwāj (marriage). Allah said that a man could have two, three or four zawjas (wives) if he treated them all equal. So you can only marry four of us. The rules of Ziwāj also forbid marrying mother and daughter. In addition, a family member must give the wife into the marriage contract. Basheera can do that for all four. That is why Basheera says the marriages would be legal.”

I thought for a minute before I said anything else. The very idea of thinking about marriage was astounding. When I added the fact that I was talking about marrying seven women it was almost incomprehensible. But for all its apparent strangeness, it felt so right, I knew beyond a doubt that it was what I should do.

“What you have worked out is a good plan, and I will follow it with only a few exceptions. I may only enter into a valid contract with four of you, but I am marrying all of you. I will always consider you all as equal to one another and will treat you that way. You will each be my wife in everyway. Can all of you accept that?”

I received seven teary eyed but enthusiastic nods.

“The second point I have is in how our home will be. I am an affectionate man and I will continue to be affectionate with you. If I am affectionate with one in front of others, I don’t want it to cause ill feelings. Remember I love you all equally, and I will spread my love equally among you. Is that acceptable?”

More shiny-eyed nods greeted me.

“Neeko, this is very good, you are actually listing conditions that would appear in the Mur (marriage contract). The Mur is usually negotiated between families before the wedding, and once signed and witnessed, becomes binding for not only the bride and groom, but their families as well. Basheera will negotiate for us as head of our family,” said Jamilah.

I didn’t like the idea of negotiating anything with Basheera. She was a sharp cookie, and the way she bargained, I would probably end up chained up back in my cell again. But I was also getting into the spirit of things, happy that we would hash out everything before we did the deed. I nodded my acceptance and directed my points toward Basheera.

“Next, I know that as part of treating you equal, each of you should have her own space that is the same as the others. Obviously, we can’t exactly do that, so I propose we draw up a document that gives each of you an equal share in the farm, seven wives - seven shares.

That idea drew the first dissension. Basheera voiced it for the group.

“Eight shares,” she corrected, “seven wives and one husband.”

I smiled at that.

“Okay, eight equal shares. The next item might be discomforting to some of you. If it is, you don’t have to participate. What I want is to spend my nights with all of you as close to me as I can have you be. If lovemaking is involved, it can be in another room, sleeping, however, should be all of us together.”