The Godless One by J. Clayton Rogers Page B

to
recognition.
    " You're the translator? " Mohammed
asked in Arabic. Ari nodded. The prisoner lowered his voice, even
though no one else could understand him. " If you want to save your neck, get out of here
now! "
    " Assalam alaikum to you, too,
brother ."
    Mohammed twitched, perhaps
on hearing Ari's Baghdad University accent. " Valaikum-salam ," he nervously
responded.
    "Then we'll leave you three to it,"
said Finley. "A guard will be just outside the door throughout the
interview. If there's any trouble, just holler. But Mohammed has
been a sterling inmate so far. We just don't know who he is or
where he comes from." He took Grainger by the shoulder. "Come on,
Reverend. I'll show you the new Carpentry class. Prisoners with
hammers and chisels. I'm sure you'll enjoy it."
    Mohammed tried to communicate with
Jenny, shaking his head in protest, but she had already turned to
reenter the room. The guard had his own way of
communicating.
    "Hey!" he said loudly, getting
Mohammed's attention. He pointed at the room. Mohammed could not
pretend he did not understand, but just in case he tried, the guard
bared his teeth. The un-American non-American would flee at the
threat from the American carnivore. Mohammed stepped into the
classroom. The guard pointed at a chair and bared his teeth again.
Mohammed sat.
    Jenny battled her plumpness into a
desk. Ari followed suit, and immediately felt like a schoolboy
again. The guard nodded agreeably, as though he had just put his
family safely to bed, then left the room, closing the door behind
him.
    "Well, Mr. Ciminon, since you seemed to
understand what Mohammed was saying in the hallway, I guess we can
get this show on the road." She followed this up with a grumpy
noise, which was in turn followed (to Ari’s horror) by a loud fart.
Mohammed giggled. Ari shot him a look and he fell
silent.
    "They’ve got some kind of beany oatmeal
in the cafeteria here," Jenny semi-apologized. "Now, Mr. Ciminon,
would you mind introducing yourself to Mohammed?"
    "My pleasure," said Ari,
turning to the prisoner and switching to Arabic.
" My name is Ari Ciminon, you piece of
filth. "
    Mohammed stared at him.
    "Good," said Jenny, opening a folder
and taking out some forms. "Unless Mr. Zewail was mistaken,
Mohammed understands that I am a court-appointed lawyer here to
help him negotiate what we fondly refer to as ‘the
System’."
    "You defend him in court?" Ari
asked.
    "If we go before a judge or this goes
to trial, yes."
    Was she speaking of show trials, where
the defense held the rope while the prosecution looped it around
the prisoner’s head? There had been plenty of those in Saddam
Hussein’s Iraq. Hussein himself had succumbed to the most elaborate
show trial of all, which Ari had found both sad and poetic. Was Ari
here to teach Mohammed his lines?
    "Of course, all of this is moot until
we get more information out of Mohammed. He had no identification
on him when he was arrested. For the record, can you ask him if
he’s an American citizen?"
    Ari asked.
    "Ha!" said Mohammed.
    "O-kay, no need for translation there.
Can you ask him what his nation of origin is?"
    " When was the last time you saw Sadr City, you Shia piece of
shit ?"
    Mohammed looked down.
    "Iraq," said Ari.
    "But he didn’t say anything," Jenny
protested.
    "He speaks in the Baghdadi dialect, a
variety of Mesopotamian Arabic."
    "Pastor Grainger told me you were from
Italy." Jenny twisted around and looked at him. "Are you a language
expert?"
    "I worked in the Alagonian Library in
the Archbishop’s Palace—in Syracuse. It has an extensive collection
of Moorish manuscripts." Ari mentally kicked himself. He had
promised himself just the other day that he would stop cooking up
these outrageous stories. It was a bad habit he found hard to
break.
    "My public library has an extensive
collection of Harlequin Romances," said Jenny. "That doesn’t mean I
know squat about love."
    "Ah," said Ari. Feeling temporarily
bereft of chivalry, he left it