Chapter 8: Bukhari

Bukhari, a seasoned soldier, twenty-five years old, who had fought against the Tirfilese incursions in the desert for six months, was the first to finish one house, having found nothing of interest in the almost deserted hovel. True, there was an old woman there who swore at him, but he didn't bother with her, and after a perfunctory check of all the rooms he moved on to the next house on his search pattern.

As he went into the first room there was a loud report from the rear of the house and a bullet went high above his head into the ceiling. Without even thinking he sprayed the back room with his automatic rifle and heard a body fall.

It was a small man with an ancient jezail, and he was dead. Turning the body over, Bukhari was surprised to see that it was a boy of no more than ten or eleven who had fired at him, and paid the price. He bent the barrel of the boy's weapon over his knee and dropped it beside the corpse.

"Mahmoud?" a woman asked querulously from the upper level.

"Dead," replied Bukhari, "He should not have fired at me. Come down woman."

Nobody moved but a wailing could be heard from above as the woman lamented the boy's death. Bukhari moved up the stairs cautiously with his rifle at the ready. The woman, in an abaya, was in a heap of grief on the floor. He lifted the abaya and it came off as he dragged her to her feet. To his surprise she was a very attractive woman of about his own age. If the boy had been her son she had certainly married early. He checked that she had no concealed weapon and was pleasantly amused as his penis rose while he handled her near naked body. This one would do to keep him warm for a few nights, he decided.

"Come," he said gruffly, throwing the abaya to her.

The woman hastily donned the abaya, amazed that the fearfully expected rape had not yet materialised. He dragged her with him out of the house and into the street where the rest of the patrol was gathering.

"You stay with me," Bukhari ordered, "Or I'll let the others use you and then shoot you. Stay with me and I will keep you for my harem. Your name is now Sadia, understand?"

The woman stared at him and then nodded her acquiescence. Better to be in the harem of one of the victors than raped repeatedly by every passing man until she was worn out, and then be shot. This must be the will of Allah, giving her to a good man. Her husband was dead and now her son; what else could she do? And one name is as good as another for a woman.