Chapter 16

I studied the sleeping shape of female humanity on the mat next to me in our tiny room.

She was a big girl for her age and her dirty feet were large for a woman, even a full grown one.

Let me assure you that despite the fact I was riddled with Western vices, I was not the sort of fellow that would take advantage of an underaged female of any category. I considered that even more depraved than sex with a member of my own sex under most circumstances.

The elderly cleaning man had secured a bottle of cheap wine for me from a disreputable establishment near the airport, and it resided in my gut with startling disregard for my need to shut the outside world out of my life.

The girl was restless, and I had no doubt she was confused by the situation, and repeatedly asked me if I knew where her parents had gone. I had a fairly good idea but hesitated to share it with her because it was nothing but the kind of news that would prove terribly traumatic to a child of her age.

She had wolfed down the food I had given her eating it with her fingers in our native way much to my satisfaction because I disapproved of the niceties of Western Civilization as in the British style of pomp and circumstance even with the simple taking of tea.

She reeked of raw sewerage probably from wading in that disastrous canal at the entrance to the airfield. I had a premonition of evil from the very first look at the dismal place now crowded with desperate people all wanting to be out of this place with every fiber of their frightened souls.

We had fallen into the habit of speaking only in Arabic and Pashto both of which she seemed to have grasped with childish acuity. I listened to her story and found no need to question her because she chattered away with every detail that I could possibly want to explore in depth. She told me that I spoke very good English for a Pakistani person and that I sound almost like an Englishman. She also told me that I would be considered a foreigner anywhere in Australia because my English was far too “Posh” for regular people. I was uncertain if that was a compliment or a criticism but her quick little mind went swiftly onto another subject and it was quickly forgotten.

We both awakened at first light, and I told her to follow me to the hallway bath to get a washup. She frowned at me, and I sensed she was a bit adverse to showing me her female skin in its nude form but knew we were at a disadvantage and needed to stay close together. The water was surprisingly warm, and I attributed it to the building owner living there and wanting the hot water for his own family rather than the convenience of the visiting guests.

I sat Alice down on a stool and cut her blonde curls down to a short boyish style. Then I had the owner’s wife dye it dark brown with the bottle she used for her own hair to cover up her graying tresses. Finally, I gave her some money for her son’s clothing and dressed up little Alice to look just like a regular native boy going to a local Madrassah for religious training.

I had already warned her not to speak English to me unless we were alone, and she thought it a fine game without really understanding the reason for it and not caring in the least just like any ten year old female with lost parents.

Alice’s sexual vocabulary was extensive, but I doubted she understood half of what she was saying as the familiar words passed her innocent lips. I figured that there was plenty of time to relay to her that her parents were probably dead at the hands of the Taliban. I had worked with the Taliban before I knew they would literally eat this little girl up and her training would be quite harsh because she was a Western and a non-believer.

I asked Alice if she had any other siblings, and she shook her head “no!”

Then, she told me her daddy had gotten a divorce and her real mom had gone back to Sydney to her extended family telling her that she would send for her when she got “Set up!” She confided in me that she didn’t quite understand the “set up” part but was certain it had something to do with money.

Her new mom was a mixed blood Pakistani and was always going to parties. She told me that she spanked her an awful lot and sometimes would send her to bed without any dinner because she had a “dirty mouth”.

I told the young girl that her name now would be Laibah (pretty woman) in Arabic. She frowned and looked into my eyes. “I like Alice better, but that is a nice name. Is it because they don’t like foreigners here?”

“It is important that you know the truth. We need to get out of this place. Probably to Pakistan because it is far safer for us away from the Taliban. I do not trust them because the are not true believers in the will of Allah. Do you know who Allah is, little one?”

She looked up at me and spoke in my native tongue. “Duh! This girl is not foolish. I know he is the God that watches over us all the time and keeps us safe from our enemies. All of my friends know that everything is as Allah wills, and we must respect the old ways even when nobody is watching.”

I looked at the little treasure and saw the possibilities for setting up a cell centered around her ability to blend into the Western world with her blonde hair and blue eyes. In eight short years she would be fully grown, and I would have all that time to hone her skills into the ultimate weapon against the sins of the Big Satan and the Little Satan. I knew this girl was more like a typical Islamic female than her Western origins in faraway Australia. It was simply a matter of training and indoctrination to make her a tool of my brand of Jihad. I was not into the suicide missions, or the dangerous planted bombs. My brand of Jihad was more connecting the dots and finding the unbeliever’s weaknesses to use against them.