A Pound of Flesh

© 2013 Stephen K. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 12/05/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4918-8358-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-8359-4 (e)

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For what shall it profit a man

if he gains the world but loses his soul?

P apa, papa, wake up! wake up! I can hear people downstairs! Zaffer awoken minutes earlier by a loud crash accompanied by voices downstairs shook his father violently. It was one o’ clock in the morning and all had been until very recently quiet; a stark contrast to earlier when Iranian missiles would visit the suburbs seeking retribution. Saddam Hussein had however, capitulated a week earlier; ending the wasteful and tiresome Iran-Iraq war. The residents of Baghdad bar none were relieved to see the end of the eight year conflict. Although as the years had progressed in this futile war of attrition, Iranian resources had been terminally depleted and the frequency of attacks on the Iraqi capital had petered out to seldom disturbances; none the less, all were terminally relieved.

Karim was in a state of shock and startled as his son shook him. He and his wife Saad had retired early even though it was their wedding anniversary. Karim had not felt well and Saad’s delicious roast chicken cooked to perfection had been saved for later consumption. Chicken Qozy was Karim’s favourite dish and it lay in state in the centre of the Al-Hussein dining table. The reason for Karim’s disquiet had been his best friend Yasseen who earlier that day had been brutally arrested at the University where they both worked by the Mokhabarat: Saddam’s secret police. It had been a sickening spectacle; an exhibition of brazen humiliation thinly disguised as security enforcement. The manner in which such an eminent and learned professor was disgraced and dishonoured was cringeworthy to witness at best. Yasseen, a faculty member was considered an elder statesmen of the university but this had counted for nothing today, as he was marched out of Saddam Hussein University at gunpoint with his pants round his ankles in shackles.

What’s the matter? Saad now also awoken from slumber tried to ascertain the reason for the sudden and intense nocturnal disturbance.

Mama there’s people downstairs! Karim and Saad exchanged fearful glances; so it was their turn tonight. The intellectual elite of Baghdad were being systematically raided in the small hours to ensure that they were not up to any subversive activities. Here, with the sole absence of thought crime shone a dystopian example of Orwellian proportions.

I’m scared. Saad was petrified, she had heard of Mokhabarat operatives pulling wives out of bed and abusing them in front of their husbands who would be pinned to their beds with the muzzle of a machine gun pressed against their chests forced to watch.

Stay here, I’ll get Sami, don’t leave this room I’ll go and see what they want.

No! Saad held onto her dear husband who she just wanted to press into her bosom but even she in her heart of hearts knew that someone needed to see what was going on. Karim gingerly left the sanctuary of his bed and looked out of the bedroom window; there with their lights flashing were three Toyota pick up trucks displaying the colour and insignia of the Mokhabarat.

It’s them; I need to go downstairs. Karim although outspoken against the regime and the Baath party had been careful to keep his nose almost clean. He was watchful only to voice his opinions in front of trusted friends and colleagues and was definitely not up to anything indictable; well nothing that the authorities could pin on him. He left the bedroom, collected his still sleeping daughter Sami and deposited her in his bedroom.

Stay here, lock the door… . pray that it is over quickly. With that curt instruction, Karim opened his bedroom door and crept outside onto the landing. He peered over the banister down the staircase and saw shadows frantically and erratically moving around being criss-crossed by the beam of an industrial torch. He took a deep breath and slowly made his way down the stairs contemplating his fate.

Hands behind your head! . . . . NOW! The Mokhabarat captain with AK-47 pointing his way shouted at Karim instructing him in no uncertain terms to surrender which Karim duly and immediately did. He did not fancy a bullet in his chest with his dying sight being one of his wife being brutally gang raped in front of his children.

On your knees! Again, Karim obliged immediately. He wanted this sordid encounter over, with as little trauma as possible.

Who else is in the house? Karim hesitated and immediately felt the reward for his hiatus as a rifle butt made sharp contact with the back of his head. He fell forward with the impact and as he put his hands out to break his fall, the Mokhabarat captain barked at him again,

Keep your hands on your head! Karim fell face forward onto the floor and the security official shouted up the stairs,

Everyone come downstairs, or it will be very bad for you! Karim wanted to speak, in fact needed to speak; as soon, the occupants of his bedroom would be unceremoniously paraded downstairs. He needed to prove that he was co-operating.

My wife and my two children, a boy, fifteen and a girl, thirteen… . His muted and belated roll call prompted the Mokhabarat officials to whoop and jeer. Shit thought Karim, he dearly hoped that his worst fears would not be realised before his eyes tonight. He turned his head to face the staircase and out of the darkness emerged the remainder of his family led by his beloved wife Saad. He winced as he noted Saad wearing the new nighty he had bought her for her anniversary; it was see through. Her appearance prompted more whistling and whooping, the Mokhabarat officials were obviously enjoying the view.

Turn the lights on! No sooner had the suggestion been made, lights were illuminated and Saad stood motionless for all to see. Karim closed his eyes, he couldn’t bear to watch.

Get your hands off me! Saad’s scream prompted Karim to reopen his eyes fearing the worst but saw enough to immediately close them again; a uniformed, moustached individual totting a machine gun was paying his wife far too much attention. Saad’s protestation met with a savage slap to her face and she was felled. Seeing their mother violated caused the children to scream, prompting another official to take Zaffer and Sami kicking and screaming into another room. The removal of the children satisfied the captain who ordered Saad and Karim to stand in a menacing monotone.

Do you know why we are here? Captain Hamil put his face right into the faces of his captives; he was fully versed in the techniques of intimidation. He had received information that there was an individual campaigning for human rights and distributing subversive anti-Saddam pamphlets living at this address and he was determined to investigate. Another few successful arrests over the coming month and he would finally earn the promotion he had been anticipating for the last three years. The lack of an immediate response from either Karim or Saad inflamed him; didn’t they realise that he held the power of life and death, the power of dignity and decorum over them? Why were they quiet? Did they not value their lives? Or the lives of their children, or their dignity? Looking Karim directly in the eye, Captain Hamil put his hand to Saad’s breast and pulled gently the fine cords holding her night dress together; as it untied, the two parts of the flimsy garment yielded slightly revealing yet more of her supple skin. Systematically he slowly but surely undid all five of the tags and Saad’s attire slid to the floor revealing her naked body in all its majesty. Karim closed his eyes tightly shut praying for the ordeal to end.

Do you not realise that I can do as I please with either of you? Do you not value your dignity? Either as a serving and obedient wife or as a proud husband? Now tell me, which of you is distributing the illegal material? In the absence of a response, Captain Hamil abruptly raised the index finger of his right hand and made a rapid circular motion with it to signify that he wanted the house searched. Instantly, his team burst into life and the mayhem started; vases, ornaments, bookshelves and cupboard drawers were unceremoniously desecrated and the neat and tidy drawing room turned into a bombsite. There in the middle of it all, motionless, Karim and Saad stood still only just daring to breath.

What is this? Out of one of the cupboards, one of the security underlings pulled out a fax machine. Karim winced, where on earth had that come from?

Jackpot! Another security drone pulled out of the corner a large defunct photocopier. Karim had bought it from his department at work as scrap when it went faulty and was replaced with a brand new model. His intention had been to fix it but here in downtown Baghdad, tonight, it was to be his family’s undoing. After inspecting the newly discovered contraband, Captain Hamil returned to the trembling and terrified couple.

So, what are you doing with an illegal fax machine and an unlicensed photocopier? Hey? Whose are they? Before Karim could even think of responding, Saad burst out,

They are both mine. Barely had the words left her mouth, Captain Hamil took a step back and barked another order,

Take her in! Mokhabarat agents scrambled and jostled for an opportunity to apprehend and grope the nude prisoner. Saad realised that her life as she knew it was now over but fearful and concerned for her husband’s dignity she turned to Captain Hamil,

Please brother can I at least be properly dressed? The use of the word brother was a masterstroke. In a split second it instilled a modicum of decency in the normally hard and grizzled captain. However, decades of service with the Mokhabarat had numbed his sense of decency which was fighting a losing battle to control the absolute power that he held over normal citizens.

Take her upstairs to get dressed! The two nearest security men immediately grasped her unceremoniously; making sure they accidentally maintained maximal physical contact. Their brusque manoeuvre almost lifted Saad off her feet as they dragged her upstairs. Captain Hamil desensitised by years of superiority, ignored the despicable behaviour of those under his command and turned to square up to the pathetic and impotent male quaking before him.

Well? Do you have anything to add? It seems that your wife has saved you and your children. There was veiled venom in Captain Hamil’s voice that Karim took heed of. He remained silent as he spied the now relaxed security officials attacking the chicken that had been saved and revered for later consumption. Like animals they were picking at it, pulling it apart and like boisterous children they threw wings, legs and thighs at each other. How Karim wanted to bound over and lambast them but being in a minority amongst a battalion of Kalashnikovs he remained silent and maintained restraint. As he watched his anniversary bird desecrated and annihilated in front of his eyes, an increase in the salient volume levels alerted him to the fact that Saad had re-entered the arena. She was indeed dressed and had managed to conceal her modesty, but was being unashamedly groped and molested by her captors. They revelled in touching her most private of regions leaving nothing sacred. Although he tried to blank it out, he could hear them allocating turns and positions; their intentions brazenly and unambiguously broadcast across time and space. Karim felt nauseous as Saad was manhandled into the awaiting van; the younger more rowdy members of the Mokhabarat troop piled in behind her advertising their intentions and her fate in a most vulgar and explicit fashion.

Leaving the house ransacked and littered with smashed ornaments, broken furniture, bits of chicken and shattered dreams, the Mokhabarat left and as Karim raced to the door, his eyes met Saad’s; with her face pressed against the glass windows in the back doors of the detention van she fought back the tears as the first of many started to exercise their will. Karim slowly turned away as Saad and the detention van disappeared into the Baghdad night; crying profusely increasing in intensity to abject wailing with tears flowing unrepressed. As he finally lost sight of Saad, he slumped unconsciously onto all fours wailing, drooling and found himself insanely trying to collate parts of the chicken carcass futilely trying to reassemble them; trying to undo the night’s events and as he finally realised that he would probably never see his beloved wife Saad ever again, he vowed revenge.

S o, everyone, five thousand words, typed, double spaced, on my desk by next Thursday at the latest. Ten mark penalty for every day late. Karim Al-Habibi was forty five and Deputy Head of Physiology at the University of Baghdad. He had held this post for five years and would have been head of Physiology by now had it not been for the tragedy three years ago. He was thoroughly tired of his monotonous and tedious existence; desperate for a way out although he realised that taking everything into account, this was unlikely at best.

It was Friday and afternoon lectures were over. As had become routine, he had missed Friday prayers; nowadays unavoidable as Saddam Hussein had decreed that government institutions were not to close on Fridays. Ever since the Baath party led by Saddam came to power, Iraq just wasn’t the same. Under the old regime, Iraq had been like any other incompetent and impotent Arab state, rich on petrodollars but low on infrastructure, education, health and social wealth but under Saddam, infrastructure development was high on the list of priorities with health care, education, roads, railways, energy production, scientific research and development all increasing exponentially. Although there was a discernable lull during the protracted and wasteful Iran-Iraq war; once this was so unsatisfactorily concluded, the development was back with a vengeance. The downside to all these western reforms was that the populous was subjugated beyond belief and to an objective observer, it seemed like a social experiment: a cross between the ideologies of Pal Pot and Stalin. Saddam’s vision, although honourable in his own eyes, was being remorselessly implemented with an iron fist and after over two decades of dictatorial power, his grasp on reality and basic human rights had become severely diminished and irretrievably deteriorated.

Karim made his way to the lift and pressed G; as he waited, he was joined by Hussein who was one of his junior lecturers; a specialist on human cardiovascular physiology. He was a staunch Saddam supporter and so, was someone who was to be suspected, despised and avoided. Karim had just read 1984 by George Orwell and this scene opposite the lift felt so much like Winston Smith waiting in front of the lift alongside Parsons being asked for razor blades. Karim had managed to borrow a copy of his favourite novel from a friend; he hadn’t read it in over three years, ever since the tragedy when his entire library of books was confiscated. Once the lift arrived, both physiologists stepped in and waited for it to transport them to the ground floor and the weekend. Hussein tried to engage Karim in conversation who made absolutely no attempt to reciprocate his advances; ever since that fateful day three years ago, Karim made no secret of despising anyone and anything pro Saddam. Although he realised he was taking a great risk in publicising his sentiments, most would not report him to the authorities as the trauma of his loss three years ago temporarily humanised even the staunchest supporters.

As was the norm in July, it was stifling hot and Karim could see the customary condensation on the outside of the glass frontage of the physiology department. Karim hated the heat, anything over 30oC and he stopped functioning normally, so the usual 47oC was torture, melting his brain and roasting his body. The summer months, consisted of what his ex-wife had named A/C hopping; jumping from one air conditioned environment to another which consequently had a deleterious effect on ones respiration; constantly being afflicted with a string of chest infections. In fact, the period between May and October consisted of most people being afflicted with a consistent background gurgle punctuated with acute episodes of infection. There was nothing about Baghdad or indeed Iraq Karim now savoured and adding to the feeling of general discontent, the aftermath of the Gulf War, had killed off the remaining feelings of the populous; everyone bar none sought to leave. It was the worst kept secret in Iraq. The Mokhabarat were for once fighting a losing battle trying to keep the populous under control; the disappearances that had punctuated everyone’s lives were reducing in frequency as they were spending an ever increasing amount of time protecting the person of the progressively paranoid Saddam Hussein rather than fighting the subversive element. The whole country had lost direction not to mention motivation and any form of desire to excel; in the end, it had boiled down to outright survival.

Karim leapt onto a passing bus marked Al Jadhriya and rode the decrepit omnibus to the district where he lived. En route, as he stood enduring the constant jostling that was now the norm; he couldn’t help but stare at the shattered remains of the Al-Sinak Bridge; a formerly majestic structure laid in undignified ruins with its back broken in two. The surrounding scenery added to the post war apocalypse that this once proud and historic city had become. Although Saddam aspired to emulate his hero Nebuchadnezzar, he had only succeeded in emulating Joseph Stalin; probably causing the aforementioned to somersault in his grave. The middle classes tried to continue as normal but this was proving more and more futile as time passed. Only one thought occupied their collective consciousness; after all their bravado and rhetoric, how could the coalition forces leave this tyrant in power? As far as the Iraqi people were concerned, George Bush had certainly fulfilled his reputation of being a wimp; true, he had no option but to invade but he just did not have the political will or personal mettle to finish the job.

Karim noticing that his stop was next, started a jostling process of his own to get to the front of the bus before the next stop arrived; a physical challenge for a man of his age and stature. As he jostled, getting gradually closer to his destination, he noticed his new love walking alongside the bus. Such was the traffic congestion; she reached the bus stop well before the bus and pushing past the commuters, he only just managed to jump off before it started its progress to the next stop.

Salaam, beautiful, how are you? The young woman he had just accosted gave a guilty start but settled immediately as the identity of her greeter was revealed.

Wa-alaikum-salaam, Karim. Qozay couldn’t help but beam at him; she was irretrievably enamoured of this man almost twice her age, respected his ideals and was in awe of his persona in general. Since he was forced to trim his beard from that of a trendy & progressive mullah to one resembling a fashionable A-List stubble, his features had been revealed as a ruggedly handsome man even though he was over forty years of age.

Did you manage to get everything?

Yes but it’s your turn next time. Do you know what I had to go through to get just one chicken?

Well that’s why I left it to you; I wouldn’t have managed to get one but who could refuse a beautiful thing like you? Qozay grinned at him. Although she did not revel pushing and shoving through sweaty hairy men trying to procure groceries, Karim’s thought pattern was totally accurate; had he gone, he wouldn’t have even got to the front of the obligatory queue to the counter. Qozay had used her position as a woman to embarrass people out of the way right to the front and had used her long and beautiful eye lashes to mesmerise the butcher’s assistant in getting for her not one but two fat, plump breasted chickens. Anyone else would have managed one at best and none by default.

So what’s the big deal? Why the urgency? Your phone call didn’t give me much time.

Well I met this student today just before lunch whose whole family has escaped within the last six months and gone to live in the UK.

UK?

"Yes, this guy’s