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.If he disapproved, he kept it to himself; the handful of young men who tried to chat with her soon fell afoul of his cold stare and disapproving eyes.It was almost as good as having a proper chaperone.The librarian didn’t make eyes at her and couldn’t have done anything even if she had acted shamelessly in front of him…not that she would have done such a thing, of course.She was a virgin and proud of it.The noise of the van didn’t bother Khadijah at all, but the first shot had her jumping up in shock, her headscarf almost becoming tangled in the chair before she wrapped it back around her hair.There was an art to wearing a headscarf and Khadijah had never quite managed to master it.The windows were set high in the room, but she was able to see one of the bodies falling backwards, one of the young men who were appointed to guard the Mosque from criminals.She opened her mouth to scream, staring helplessly as a skinhead white youth smashed one of the windows and poured some clear liquid inside, and then dropped something in the liquid.The smell of fuel made her dizzy…and then she realised what was about to happen.The smell was petrol and it was about to catch fire; she had seen enough movies to know what would happen then…“Get back,” the librarian snapped.A strong arm yanked her back as something sparked and the rear of the library burst into flame.Khadijah watched in horror as the fires spread throughout the library, burning books and pamphlets alike; microfilms, cassette tapes, videos and DVDs added their smells to the air as the fire consumed them faster than seemed possible.“You have to get out of here.”Khadijah couldn’t face it.“Help me move the books,” she screamed at him.There were copies of the Qur’an there; cheap ones, but still the holy words of Allah.They could not be destroyed.They must not be destroyed.Her rage gave her strength; she pulled at a bookcase and felt it shift, moving backwards and bringing the fire with it.She screamed again, in rage and hatred, as the fires danced towards her; the smell was making her faint and confused.She was trying to take books off the shelves, tearing off her scarf to carry them in; she expected to wake up any moment and discover that she had been studying too hard.Her eyes were starting to tear up as the heat rose still higher; she was finding it harder and harder to think…A hand pulled at her and she went down.“Stay down,” the librarian hissed.She realised with a shock, almost with a giggle, that his beard was on fire.She reached out, greatly daring, and swatted at it; he snorted and pulled her forward on her hands and knees towards the door, forcing it open through sheer force of will.“Khadijah; you’re burning!”She felt it then, just at the same time; a wave of burning pain on her thighs.Her eyes were still stinging, but she could see it now; her dress had caught on fire.She had once wanted to wear tight jeans; for the first time in her life, she thanked Allah for the Mosque’s strict dress code.Jeans would have had her own body ablaze instead of her dress; she tore at it, forgetting modesty, only to be surprised when the librarian grabbed her and forced her to roll on the ground, putting out the fires.The remainder of the fire was still blazing; it struck her suddenly that she couldn’t hear the fire alarm.She should have been able to hear it.No one had come to help them, she realised; the librarian was puffing and gasping for air.It wouldn’t be long before the fire brought down the Mosque and they were still trapped inside the Mosque; they had to get out and the side doors were bound to be blocked.She pulled the librarian to his feet – she realised, for the first time, that he was an old man – and they staggered off towards the men’s section of the Mosque.It was the only way out…and it was locked.She banged at it, too tired and weak to scream again…and it opened, a worried dark face peering at her.Strong arms took her and the librarian and carefully carried her out of the Mosque; she wanted, desperately, to save the rest of the books.A pair of hands passed her a cup of water and she sipped it gratefully; she felt like collapsing as she stared at the Mosque.It had been built by the resources of the community, trying to escape the flow of poison money from the Middle East.More and more people were boiling out of the houses…men only, she noticed; some of them were carrying makeshift weapons.They were all staring at the Mosque as the flames grew higher…and then the dome caved in, crashing down on the prayer rooms, crashing down on the washing rooms…and crashing down on the library, where she had enjoyed so many days.A young man came over to her.She saw his eyes and his beard and just knew that he was going to be trouble.She almost mouthed his words along with him.It would be something insanely ridiculous in the face of the disaster that had just overtaken the community, something so banal as to almost be foolish.She was right.“Where’s your headscarf?”The librarian cut loose with a hideous torrent of Arabic, mixed with coughs and gasps for breath, including several words that her father would have beaten her brother for using.The young man, clearly an Arab himself, paled, muttered apologies too softly for her to hear most of the words, and fled to one of the groups of young men who had gathered with weapons.She could hear some of their conversation, calling for Jihad, calling for war…and reminding everyone that neither the Police nor the Fire Brigade had come to help them.Everyone knew some of the attackers, people known for hating them…and they had to pay.“Khadijah,” a voice called [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.If he disapproved, he kept it to himself; the handful of young men who tried to chat with her soon fell afoul of his cold stare and disapproving eyes.It was almost as good as having a proper chaperone.The librarian didn’t make eyes at her and couldn’t have done anything even if she had acted shamelessly in front of him…not that she would have done such a thing, of course.She was a virgin and proud of it.The noise of the van didn’t bother Khadijah at all, but the first shot had her jumping up in shock, her headscarf almost becoming tangled in the chair before she wrapped it back around her hair.There was an art to wearing a headscarf and Khadijah had never quite managed to master it.The windows were set high in the room, but she was able to see one of the bodies falling backwards, one of the young men who were appointed to guard the Mosque from criminals.She opened her mouth to scream, staring helplessly as a skinhead white youth smashed one of the windows and poured some clear liquid inside, and then dropped something in the liquid.The smell of fuel made her dizzy…and then she realised what was about to happen.The smell was petrol and it was about to catch fire; she had seen enough movies to know what would happen then…“Get back,” the librarian snapped.A strong arm yanked her back as something sparked and the rear of the library burst into flame.Khadijah watched in horror as the fires spread throughout the library, burning books and pamphlets alike; microfilms, cassette tapes, videos and DVDs added their smells to the air as the fire consumed them faster than seemed possible.“You have to get out of here.”Khadijah couldn’t face it.“Help me move the books,” she screamed at him.There were copies of the Qur’an there; cheap ones, but still the holy words of Allah.They could not be destroyed.They must not be destroyed.Her rage gave her strength; she pulled at a bookcase and felt it shift, moving backwards and bringing the fire with it.She screamed again, in rage and hatred, as the fires danced towards her; the smell was making her faint and confused.She was trying to take books off the shelves, tearing off her scarf to carry them in; she expected to wake up any moment and discover that she had been studying too hard.Her eyes were starting to tear up as the heat rose still higher; she was finding it harder and harder to think…A hand pulled at her and she went down.“Stay down,” the librarian hissed.She realised with a shock, almost with a giggle, that his beard was on fire.She reached out, greatly daring, and swatted at it; he snorted and pulled her forward on her hands and knees towards the door, forcing it open through sheer force of will.“Khadijah; you’re burning!”She felt it then, just at the same time; a wave of burning pain on her thighs.Her eyes were still stinging, but she could see it now; her dress had caught on fire.She had once wanted to wear tight jeans; for the first time in her life, she thanked Allah for the Mosque’s strict dress code.Jeans would have had her own body ablaze instead of her dress; she tore at it, forgetting modesty, only to be surprised when the librarian grabbed her and forced her to roll on the ground, putting out the fires.The remainder of the fire was still blazing; it struck her suddenly that she couldn’t hear the fire alarm.She should have been able to hear it.No one had come to help them, she realised; the librarian was puffing and gasping for air.It wouldn’t be long before the fire brought down the Mosque and they were still trapped inside the Mosque; they had to get out and the side doors were bound to be blocked.She pulled the librarian to his feet – she realised, for the first time, that he was an old man – and they staggered off towards the men’s section of the Mosque.It was the only way out…and it was locked.She banged at it, too tired and weak to scream again…and it opened, a worried dark face peering at her.Strong arms took her and the librarian and carefully carried her out of the Mosque; she wanted, desperately, to save the rest of the books.A pair of hands passed her a cup of water and she sipped it gratefully; she felt like collapsing as she stared at the Mosque.It had been built by the resources of the community, trying to escape the flow of poison money from the Middle East.More and more people were boiling out of the houses…men only, she noticed; some of them were carrying makeshift weapons.They were all staring at the Mosque as the flames grew higher…and then the dome caved in, crashing down on the prayer rooms, crashing down on the washing rooms…and crashing down on the library, where she had enjoyed so many days.A young man came over to her.She saw his eyes and his beard and just knew that he was going to be trouble.She almost mouthed his words along with him.It would be something insanely ridiculous in the face of the disaster that had just overtaken the community, something so banal as to almost be foolish.She was right.“Where’s your headscarf?”The librarian cut loose with a hideous torrent of Arabic, mixed with coughs and gasps for breath, including several words that her father would have beaten her brother for using.The young man, clearly an Arab himself, paled, muttered apologies too softly for her to hear most of the words, and fled to one of the groups of young men who had gathered with weapons.She could hear some of their conversation, calling for Jihad, calling for war…and reminding everyone that neither the Police nor the Fire Brigade had come to help them.Everyone knew some of the attackers, people known for hating them…and they had to pay.“Khadijah,” a voice called [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]