M found François standing at his door watching men, women, and children tread softly as they headed to the square. They spoke in hushed whispers, with many warnings to be quiet. She left him and transported to the road north of the city to meet Mustafa and his men. Thankfully, the rusty old Land Rover had proven reliable and they had arrived only a few minutes before. They were cold and weary, but for safety she insisted they walk. Blending in with the crowds moving to the center of the city would be the best disguise. Mustafa agreed.
François and his neighbors had cleaned the second-storey rooms, and provisioned them with water, towels, soap, food, and blankets. There were even a few pieces of clean clothing. It must have looked like a little piece of heaven to Mustafa and his men
While the men devoured the food, washed, and rested, she had François help her suspend an oval-shaped metal tub from the balcony. She had brought one of the jerry cans from the Land Rover and poured the little bit of leftover gasoline into the tub swishing it on the sides; greasing a cake pan. Images of a woman baking at an old woodstove flitted at the edges of her conscious thought. She didn’t try to capture them. She knew that was futile.
She fingered the box of flimsy matches from China that François had given her. She’d used them before, but she couldn’t remember where—Mali maybe. They flared up nicely and would suit her purpose.
She stood just inside the balcony doors. Nervous tension emanated from Fatma and Alyia who stood behind her. Mustafa was somewhere behind her too, muttering words and phrases that she couldn’t quite hear. Practicing his speech? His men, further back in the room, shifted from foot to foot. Ali wiped sweat from his upper lip and then rubbed his palms on his pants.
“Sixty seconds, Madame,” Ali said quietly. He had François’ watch.
“Thank you.”
Mustafa opened the makeshift doors the men had put up, but she did not yet step forward.
The square was packed, but with little color and none of the usual restless shifting of waiting, warm bodies. Men and boys hung motionless and silent from every available window. The rooftops were as packed with people as the square itself. The old buildings seemed to sway and threatened to collapse under the weight.
“Thirty seconds.” The men tensed. She was edgy, anxious, and tense herself. She had experienced everything from panic and despair to moments of the wondrous joy of play as she experimented with transporting. She had reacted instinctively, made wild guesses, schemed and worried. All of that came down to this moment and doing it right.
“Twenty seconds.” Mustafa shifted. She heard his rapid, heavy breathing and felt puffs of air on the back of her neck each time he exhaled. She turned to face him and impulsively threw her arms around him. He went rigid but she didn’t let go and then he was hugging her back—fiercely.
They broke apart avoiding each other’s eyes. “Eight, seven, six….” Saved by Ali’s final countdown.
She was calm now and had time to wonder only briefly about where that came from. She stepped out at the exact moment Ali said zero.
“I have been sent to bring you a message. Life here must change immediately. You will listen to me and do as I say.” Rumblings of anger and dissent rose to the balcony. She could see the Spinda shifting, raising weapons, while the citizens moved out of their way with fearful glances. Oh great, what the hell do I do now?
“All persons with weapons of any kind will take them to the building directly across from me.” No one moved. Slowly the armed men began a surge forward. “Now!” She shouted. The word reverberated around the square as if carried by a will beyond this world.
The Spinda lost momentum. Halted. Slowly, as if pushed by unseen hands, the Spinda wove their way through the crowd of citizens to do as she said. The people shifted and parted to allow the Spinda through. When all weapons were placed inside, François and two helpers closed and bolted the doors.
M sagged with relief. What made the men obey? Surely not one little word from her. She looked at the ring. It was maddeningly blank.
“From this day forward, women and girls will not be forced to wear the burqa.” She knew that removing the burqa in public would be too shocking for most of the women, but she hoped some at least would act. She beckoned to Fatma and Alyia.
The two came forward and remained motionless for such a long time that the crowd began to stir and murmur. Oh God, we’ve come so far, please don’t back down now. Alyia moved first. Slowly, ever so slowly she raised her burqa above her head and let it slide to the ground. Her mother followed hesitatingly and then with more confidence. Fatma looked grim, but determined as she placed both burqas in M’s hands.
Fatma and Alyia stepped back clutching each other. It seemed that the world stood still. M waited to prolong the dramatic moment, then dropped the burqas into the tub hanging below the balcony. The Spinda roared their rage and surged forward, ready to rip the three women apart with their bare hands. When the first of the Spinda were just steps away from the tub M lit three of the fragile matches, tossed them into the tub and backed away. The gasoline caught immediately and flared. The stench of burning wool filled the air. When the flames and smoke had died down she stepped forward to see the Spinda encircled, trapped by the crowd.
“All women who wish to may remove their burqas.” No one moved.
“I’m crazy, fucking crazy. This won’t work. How can I possibly expect the women to throw off generations of subjugation here, in such a public place?” Mustafa, standing behind her, grunted agreement.
Alyia stepped forward. “Do not be afraid.” She waved and smiled widely at the crowd, urging the women on. M could hardly believe it. Neither could Mustafa judging by his sharp intake of breath. “Bless the young and foolhardy,” she whispered. He nodded, his face a mask of astonishment. She wondered what he was thinking, whether he approved or was as horrified as the Spinda were.
Some of the women and almost all of the young girls removed their burqas. Something out there…. She looked up to the sky. Something out there….
Fatma, taking the example from her daughter, led the women in a loud ululating cheer. When the noise died down, M spoke again. “One more surprise.” She motioned Mustafa forward. His beardless face was almost as shocking to the crowd as the women removing their burqas had been.
At first no one recognized him. Then one lone voice cried, “Mustafa!”
“Mustafa! Mustafa!” the crown chanted. Mustafa raised his fist in salute, holding high the beard he had so recently cut off. He dropped it into the tub with the still smoldering burqas. The stench of burning hair rose in the air.
Mustafa turned to her and bowed. The crowd went wild. “You will stay?” he pleaded in a voice so low that only she could hear.
How could she tell this man, his eyes desperate with hope, that she didn’t know? “They are waiting.” She gestured to the crowd and stepped back. Her left hand tingled. She looked at the ring and saw an urban slum, a young man calling for help, sirens blaring…
*
She astonished me in so many ways. I hadn’t suggested the hug and I didn’t push Mustafa to hug her back, but I could almost feel that hug. Her arms around me, mine around her. It soothed, warmed… My heart pounded. Damn, I couldn’t go there.
And, I was dumbfounded by her actions— the tub, burning the burqas. I knew why she wanted to put the spotlight on the women, but I had been sure it would fail. It seemed my Little Soldier was developing powers separate from mine. It was as if she didn’t always need me. I wasn’t sure I liked that. Be honest, I told myself. You don't like it at all. Of course, I was the one who controlled the Spinda, made them give up their weapons, and herded them into a tight circle bound by the citizens. I puffed up with pride. I could move millions.