Mooshie bought three size eights, double checking on the return policy with the smug Beth, and led them to a bench by the water, where Zelda ate the last of the Irene’s Iced Cakes, licking the chocolate crumbs off her fingertips and then turning on the gold wrapping.
Mooshie wiped Zelda’s hands and whispered, “What’s up, sweet cakes? You haven’t stared at my tits all morning.”
Zelda shrugged, her lower lip quivering.
Mooshie nodded severely. “Are you sure?”
“About what?”
Lopez hugged her. “It’s all over your face, brown eyes. Surprised Pup’s friend didn’t suggest you buy baby clothes. When’d you find out?”
“The happy cup sang this morning. Don’t tell Puppy.”
“I won’t.”
“I’m serious. He and Pablo can’t know. No one can. I’m finally doing well at a job…” Zelda recited her list of things that-had-been-going-well-for-once-in-her-life-and-which-were-now-in-a-big-stinky-dumpster.
“Then get rid of it.”
Zelda gasped. “What?”
“Have an abortion.” Mooshie shrugged. “Quick, easy. I had two.”
Zelda gasped again. “Mooshie, that’s illegal.”
“Oh shit, what else did the bitch do while I was dead?”
“No more abortions. That’s a capital offense.”
Mooshie tossed the rest of her ham and cheese hero into the garbage before Zelda could stop her. “As if Grandma needs a reason for insanity, but why?”
“We lost thirteen million in the war, Moosh. We’re surrounded by Allahs, who breed like animals. We need the babies, the children. That makes sense to me.”
Lopez gave her a pitying look. “So you execute someone for getting rid of an unwanted baby.”
“Look, I don’t want to debate the politics, okay?”
“Okay, okay.” Mooshie said soothingly. “Know whose kid it is?”
Zelda sighed.
“Terrific. Can you narrow it down?”
“I had an upsetting month.”
“And needed to feel you had something going for you.”
Zelda nodded glumly. Six guys. No. Seven. Six on the bed, one of the floor.
“Been there. Most of my life,” Lopez said softly. “Did you consider condoms?”
Zelda laughed. “What’re those?”
“Those latex baggies that slip over the guy’s pecker?”
“They’ve been outlawed since the Next Generations Act of 2078. Condoms, any birth control devices or pills. That’s also a capital offense for women, men, doctors, anyone.”
Mooshie shook her head disgustedly. “What happens next?”
“The results have gone into the Central Information Department. The cycle cup is hooked up. And no, I don’t know how. They give you a month to come forward. If you’re married, great. Or even if you’re engaged. Accidents happen so they overlook the slight illegality. If you’re single, I’m not so sure. I’ve never known anyone who got pregnant outside marriage or impending marriage or if they did, admitted it.”
Zelda laid her head on Mooshie’s shoulder and cried for a few minutes.
“Do you want the kid, chubby cheeks?”
She looked up, puzzled. “Not at all, but that doesn’t matter. I can’t keep it, Moosh.”
• • • •
JALAK CAREFULLY LAID down another three pairs of socks, stopping Azhar from zipping up the suitcase.
“I only have two feet,” he protested gently.
“You’ll get wet. You don’t look where you’re going.” She averted his eyes. “Did you count your shirts?”
“Twelve should be enough.”
“For each day?”
Mustafa tugged her down to the bed. “Don’t try to guess how long I’ll be away.”
“It would help so I know if something’s wrong.” Her eyes watered.
“Nothing will be wrong. It’s a simple fishing trip.”
Jalak’s lips pressed together. “We have been married eighteen years. Now you decide to lie?”
Azhar grabbed the suitcase. “And after eighteen years, could you finally stop doubting me? Or do you think I will be swimming around with young girls?”
“I don’t worry about the girls, Azhar,” she said fearfully.
He paused reluctantly at the front door, hoping a text or email or call would arrive on the wings of an angel and rescue him. He checked his cell with the screen saver photo of his family. Nothing. Abdul hugged him tightly, too tightly. He was also scared.
“When will you be back, Poppa?”
“Soon. It’s just a fishing trip.”
“Do not ask questions of your father.” Jalak smacked his shoulder. “He will be back when he is back.”
Mustafa kissed Abdul and gave Jalak a strong smile. “Practice cooking when I’m gone.”
She didn’t laugh.
Azhar tossed his suitcase into the back of the car. Omar passed in his long black robe, eyes lowered, sullen, withdrawn.
“See you soon.” Azhar extended his hand. The boy clutched the Qaran to his chest and hopped onto his bicycle, pedaling away furiously as if his father were a Catholic priest. At least he wasn’t scared. Just angry.
What have you given me, Allah? Mustafa wondered as he drove to the main Barcelona train station, parking in the long-term lot. He’d been instructed by the Imam to behave at all times as if he were simply a traveler with no special privileges. While a line of Crusaders buying rail tickets stretched across the shabby station, Azhar only had to wait a few minutes on the Believers queue.
He boarded the express train, flinging his bag into the overhead bin with a spasm of resentment and quickly falling asleep to Ali Khan’s enchanting ballads on his phone. He dreamed of opening the suitcase where Jalak popped out, naked except for his socks, holding a plate of dried out lamb.
Azhar woke, quickly looking around in case someone on the train had the power to listen to his dreams. Only Allah, he reminded himself. You should be honored for whatever you are about to do. It is important. The Mufti’s son. The Son. Then why did the Imam seem uneasy? He sighed deeply and cautioned himself to save some oxygen.
He dozed again, exhausted by the internal anxiety. Once they crossed the border at Andorra, the train sat for about an hour. Azhar ate the kabsa laham, watching through the window as the engineers were joined by two other workers sadly shaking their heads.
Breakdowns were common on the rails. If there ever were an explanation, it was that the Crusaders had sabotaged the railway system as their godless souls were driven away from holy lands. That was nearly thirty years ago. Azhar risked some analysis to
