Children of Dust_ A Memoir of Pakistan - Ali Eteraz [80]
“I don’t think Islam allows that,” Moosa quipped. “Although Khomeini said that if you were walking along your roof and fell down and your penis entered your mother, it wouldn’t be considered incest under Islam.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” I said. “But what if before pulling out you thrust a couple of times, because during the fall you became disoriented and thought you had entered your wife?”
“Good question. I’ll have to ask a scholar about this.”
“Anyway. Back to the important problem at hand,” I said.
“I think you should scare this chump away.”
“Threaten him?”
“Yeah.”
“With what? Punjabis aren’t warriors.”
“Tell him that you challenge him to a bhangra duel,” he suggested.
“What if he says that dancing is un-Islamic. Then he’s got another way to diss me.”
“Point taken.”
“God,” I said—almost a prayer. “I really don’t want to die yet. I’m still a virgin.”
“Look at the upside,” Moosa said cheerily. “In Islam a murdered man is a martyr. That means you’ll get seventy-two girls in Paradise.”
“But I don’t have any sexual experience. I wouldn’t be able to please them.”
“All right, then why don’t you tell this guy that his code of honor is haram because it’s rooted in un-Islamic tribalism.”
That seemed like an amazing idea. Declaring things un-Islamic was always the safest way of winning an argument.
“It’s not a permanent fix,” Moosa cautioned, “but it should put him on the defensive.”
“This whole Bilqis thing is getting out of hand,” I said. “You know that book by Kurban Said that we read?”
“Ali and Nino? The one about the Muslim guy and Christian girl in Azerbaijan?”
“Yeah. I should just kidnap Bilqis the way Ali did Nino.”
“You don’t have a horse, though. I think it’s tradition to use a horse.”
“We could rent a Mustang.”
“This is going to be so cool,” Moosa yelped. “Can I perform your service?”
“Definitely. But after my service, where will I go to get it on with my wife? Didn’t the Prophet say in a hadith that you have to play with your virgin?”
“He did. How about you rent one of those sleeping cars in an Amtrak train? That way if you get followed you can evade her family.”
“What if during wedding night she’s on her period?”
“I keep telling you to read Imam Ghazali. He says that if your virgin is periodic you should put a silk cloth on her privates and rub her until she orgasms. It’s an Islamic duty for a man to pleasure his wife.”
“Our scholars really knew their sex, didn’t they?”
“There’s a reason we should follow their precedence!”
“Yeah, man,” I said after some reflection. “I’m not going to abduct anyone. It’s illegal. Besides, I’ve got midterms coming up.”
“Me too.”
After hanging up, I turned back to the computer and started chatting with Yahya the way Moosa had suggested. I brought up all sorts of Islamic references and chose three of my favorite Islamic sayings. They would demonstrate that I was a scholar, not a fighter:
The ink of the scholar is holier than the blood of the martyr.
Search for knowledge even if it takes you to China.
God loves nothing more than a pious youth.
Invoking Islam had the intended effect. Yahya became nervous. “Do you study Islam or something?” he asked.
“Yes,” I typed. “I’m becoming a scholar.”
“Damn. I had no idea! My bad, bro! I thought you were just some player going after Bilqis. I see that I was very wrong. I’m sorry for misjudging your character.”
“Not a problem,” I responded, smiling to myself, and then I proceeded to type out some pointers about better etiquette.
That night, buzzing on the power of Islam, I decided that I wasn’t going to wait three years before telling my parents. If Islam could defeat vengeful ex-boyfriends, it could definitely persuade my parents.
7
Guess what? I’ve found a wife.”
Back in Alabama for spring break that freshman year, I told Ammi and Pops the news over dinner. We were having qeema with roti and a side dish of curried zucchini.
“Excuse me?” said Ammi.
“He thinks someone actually wants to marry him,” Flim said, ever the younger brother.
“There’s a