THE SEVENTH MAN

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE When I opened my eyes, I found myself in a room filled with people, both male and female. I was the only foreigner. At first, I thought I was dreaming, but the stench of the place was so bad that I knew I wasn’t because it dragged on and on deep into my head. I looked around and saw that there were young people like me, who stared at me pathetically like they were in a better position than I was. My neck was hurting real bad, and I noticed that I had bruises on my knees, and elbows. I put my hand on my knee and saw that the injury was still fresh. Then one of the girls said to me, “they threw you to the floor. That is why you have the wound.” I looked at her with the reality of my condition dawning on me, and started crying. In her own way of consoling me, she continued, “we are all going to die. So don’t cry, just pray. Pray to your God.” But that made me cry even the more. I cried and cried, and wished that someone would wake me up, and tell me I was dreaming. But as every minute passed, I was faced with the reality of my circumstance. I could not believe that God would let me into such a circumstance. “Why me?” I asked with fury. “Who should it have been?” another voice seemed to have responded. I blamed myself for my misfortune, and I became the defense, plaintiff and judge of myself. My head went haywire. “So I am going to die just like that,” I thought to myself, and the tears continued to flow. This time they were hot tears. As I continued to moan, I buried my head in between my legs, praying that God would either miraculously take me out of there, or make me sleep and take my soul away. Then the door flung open, and six men walked in. It was the dead silence in the room, and the screeching of the door that made me know that someone had come in. I raised my head, and identified three of the six men that came in as the people who had chased Hassan and I. The particular man who had caught me, fixed his gaze on me, and I quickly turned my face because I couldn’t stand the horror in his eyes. He seemed to be their leader, as he began to speak fiercely in Arabic. He spoke for about five minutes, and walked out of the room with the others following him. When they left, I looked to the same girl who had spoken to me. She seemed to know that I wanted her to say something to me, and then she said, “They say we are traitors and evil. They say we deserve to die and that is what they are going to do. Others will learn a lesson from us, they think. One by one they will come to take us to kill. But every day we will be flogged twelve times for women, and twenty-four for men, until everybody is killed.” I knew what my offence was, but I didn’t know what their offence was. They were Arabians, so what could they have done to deserve such a punishment from their own people. Then I asked her, “What is your offence?” she laughed and said, “Offence! I have no offence. I plan to run to Europe so I can go to school, and they say I am joining with enemy. Is that an offence?” I didn’t answer her question, because I didn’t think she needed an answer. Then I looked at the other people, and asked again, “What about them? What have they done?” she shook her head and answered, “I don’t know. I can only speak for myself.” Then she turned to me and asked, “And you, what did you do?” I hesitated for a while, not knowing how to phrase my answer, and then I said, “I’m a Christian. I came to preach Jesus.” She shook her head and said, “Oh dear! What a dilemma! Your penalty is beheading.” My heart almost popped out of my mouth. “What did you say?” I asked. Making gestures with her finger, she answered, “For Christians, it is to cut your head off. And for traitors like me, it is bullet in my head. Different punishment for different people.”