Water And Stone

Water And Stone

She had escaped the stoning. 

They had stripped her, she was naked and covered in dirt from where they attempted to bury her. She had cut s and bruises all over her body, blood from open wounds mixing with the dirt. I do not know how she had escaped. I had not attended the stoning. I was tidying my workshop and had momentarily stepped out into the backstreet which is when she ran straight into my arms. Her eyes were wild, pleading, savage and desperate. She had not intended to run into my arms any more than I had intended to catch her. I’d simply been in her way whilst she fled. We both knew immediately the situation.

I pushed her into my workshop. She was terrified. I understood enough about psychology that she would likely bond with me as a saviour were I to protect her, even for a short time. She would for the rest of her life to feel indebted to me out of respect or gratitude.

I had been tidying my workshop while waiting for my bath to heat up. It seemed obvious to put her in it. I could argue this is what Allah had guided me to do. I know there are penalties for helping her but also, Mohamed teaches how there are penalties for not helping people. I did not know what she had done wrong. She had done nothing wrong to me. 

Neither did I know if I could trust her. I watched her wash. When she realised I was not going to betray her, that I was helping her, she very quickly calmed down. The washing became seductive. Was she doing it on purpose or my wishful thinking? 

That very morning in prayer, I had asked Allah to send me a wife.

Now, this.

There are two versions of Islam. There is the version accurate to the Q’ran which forbids us from turning to any other source above the Q’ran. There is the mainstream version which includes the Sunnah (witness accounts of Mohamed written down later) and Hadith (opinions about Islam). That form of Sharia law is different than how it is in the Q’ran. It is that version which justifies the stoning of women. The Q’ran does not. Both versions are called Islam. It confuses everybody.

Mohamed teaches forgiveness.

I asked her what she had done to upset them.

“I did not cover. He attack me.” She meant sexual assault. “I fight. He get hurt. They call me impure. Prison me. Stone me. I escape. God is with me today.”

The Q’ran instructs women must cover their genitals in public and dress modestly. It does not forbid women to show skin or hair or faces. What the culture in my country enforces it is not Q’ranic Islam. They are infidels who believe in rumour, in conjecture. They place falsehood above truth. The mosques are captured by apostates. 

They would punish me for speaking this openly.

“Are you married?”

“No.”

“Are you with child?”

“It is impossible.”

The Q’ran teaches a man should should wait until after a woman’s lunar bleed so he can know she is fertile and not with child, before putting his own seed into her.

“You will stay here. It is safe.”

She looked at me. 

I might have been lying.