The Good Son (33 page)

At last, Annette blurts out their desire. “What’s happening? Did they tell you anything?”

“Yes, and we all need to hear this.” She lifts herself up and gestures to the others and immediately the eight prisoners surround her, pressing close, kneeling or standing, or sitting on another charpoy hastily dragged over. Sonia is reminded of a baroque altarpiece: disciples surrounding a dying saint, their attention rapt.

She gives it to them straight. She has spoken to the man in charge. He has expressed interest in the conference and insists that they proceed here, but the threat made on the video is literal. On any day when there are civilian casualties in the so-called war on terror, Alakazai will execute one hostage. And Sonia herself is to choose each victim.

There is a silence, broken by Schildkraut. “Sonia, that is monstrous. You cannot possibly do such a thing, selecting the victims—”

“I don’t think any of it is voluntary, Professor,” says Ashton, and they all begin talking at once until Amin shouts for everyone to be quiet and enforces his demand by banging on the brass breakfast tray with a metal spoon.

“Thank you,” he says, when they have settled down. “There is no need to lose our heads—in the figurative sense at least. Now, as to our situation. Obviously, we are at the mercy of this man, Alakazai, who clearly has no mercy at all. But we are not entirely helpless. We can at least relieve Sonia of this impossible responsibility by selecting the order of execution ourselves, in advance. We can draw straws—”

“I have a deck of cards,” says Sonia.

“A deck of cards will do as well. Are we agreed on that score at least?”

“As if we had a choice,” says Ashton.

Amin gives the Englishman a stern look. “No, we don’t have a choice as to whether we will die, but we can choose if we will die like human beings. Our captor wishes to reduce us to a squabbling herd of animals and wishes to degrade Sonia by making her the mistress of our fate. He would like to see us begging her for another day of life, offering her money, favors, I don’t know what. We can choose not to do that. We can choose to leave the order of our dying in the hands of fate—or God, if you will.” He pauses to look each of them in the eye, then asks, “Are we agreed, then?”

Murmurs of assent, nods. Porter Cosgrove clears his throat. “But it’s not certain that anyone will be killed, is it? I mean, it depends on whether any innocent Muslims are killed. Maybe they’ll call some sort of truce while we’re being held.”

An incredulous laugh from Harold Ashton, and Amin says gently, “Porter, of course we all hope that, but I am afraid there is little chance that the various wars will cease just because nine people are being held hostage. Innocent Muslims are being killed every day by various armies, and the fact that most of them are dying at the hands of fellow Muslims can’t affect our situation. The deaths will not stop—if not in Pakistan, then Kashmir, Afghan i stan, Iraq, Chechnya. We can always hope for rescue, but there is no point in clutching at false hopes.”

Sonia observes that Cosgrove has a lock on the prize for most demoralized captive. He seems to have lost two sizes since his expansive performance at the dinner party, was it four days ago? A lifetime ago, at any rate. His face has fallen into itself like a rotted white grape, and his eyes are a hurt child’s: How can this be happening to wonderful charitable
me
? He sags against his wife’s sturdy youth. Sonia catches Annette’s troubled look but pulls her eyes away, feeling embarrassment, guilt.

Amin speaks again. He’s also transformed himself, Sonia observes, from a slick, even oily, foundation professional into a death-camp leader. He’s physically shrunken, like the others, but this has only exposed an unexpected core of moral steel.

“The other decision we must make is whether to hold our conference
now. Sonia tells us it is our tyrant’s desire. We must not suppose that he is really interested in what we have to say. It is most probable that he wishes to mock us. Nevertheless, I believe we should do it.”

There is some outburst at this, but he holds his hand up until they are quiet again. “This is why,” he continues. “We all stand for something and, if I may say it, different versions of the same thing. We stand for peace. We think it is possible in this world. We think intelligence, fair dealing, and moral clarity can help bring about peace, even in places where war is the only thing anyone remembers. Some of us have actually done this, so we understand that it is not merely a pious illusion. Some of us are inspired by religion. We think a compassionate God desires all His children to live in peace. Others of us are not religious, but believe that war is a crime against reason and humanity. None of us expected to be in this situation, with death hanging over all our heads. But consider our choices now. We can refuse to perform for this evil man, that is one way to look at it, or we can speak our truth, even in the face of death. This is what is meant by the word
martyr
, as I’m sure you know. Martyr means witness. And speaking only for myself, this is how I would prefer to die, with my truth on my lips to the last breath.”

In the silence after this, Sonia begins to clap, and the others join in with enthusiasm, all except Porter Cosgrove, who sits stunned on the edge of a charpoy, like a stuffed doll. But Annette claps, as does Ashton, although Sonia notices he is looking at Annette as he does.

Schildkraut now rises as the applause fades and says, “Let me add, if I may, one observation to my colleague’s remarks. I am the oldest person here, by a good measure. I was looking forward to my seventy-sixth birthday next month, and I suppose that in the normal course of things I would have volunteered to be the first to go to death. It would not be much of a sacrifice, I think, not of very much time anyway. But as it is, I will submit to the hand of fate, as Amin has suggested. I say
fate
and not
God
, you notice; I am one of Amin’s atheists. And as the oldest of you, I suppose I have been to more conferences over the years than anyone else. That is what we intelligentsia do in the modern world, we travel and talk and confer, all paid for by people like Mr. Craig there. It is one of the perks of such a life, quite pleasant—the nice hotels, the beautiful conference centers—yes, and I agree with Amin that we must do this thing now, to speak our truth, and I would like to add that, should any of
us survive, we should propose this arrangement as a general principle for conferences. At every conference there should be a card drawing and executions. Everyone should speak as if their speech were their last words on earth. I submit that this would make for shorter meetings and a good deal less bullshit.”

He sits. After a frozen instant, Amin bursts into laughter and the rest of them join in, all except, again, Porter Cosgrove. He seems about to cry. Then he does cry, deep, almost soundless sobs. Annette talks to him softly, urges him to stand, moves him shuffling away from the others, and lays him down on a charpoy near the far wall.

Nobody comments on this. Instead they crowd around Sonia and Amin, seemingly reluctant to move away, as if these two have some powerful mana that will lift the curse of death, Amin because he is now the leader, and Sonia because. . . she doesn’t quite understand it, but it has to do, she thinks, with the experience she had in the cellar stable. Maybe they sense it, the shadow of God; maybe they think, even the rationalists, the atheists, that she can work miracles as a result.

Sonia says, “There’s something else you should know. I guess you’ve heard that I’m interpreting dreams for some of the locals, yes? Well, as Amin said, I’m not sure we can impress Alakazai with anything we do, but I have the sense that Bahram Alakazai is not well loved as a leader, and neither is his field commander, Idris Ghulam. It’s hard to lead Pashtuns, even if they respect you, and respect ordinarily goes through khel and tribe. They’ll take orders from people they don’t know if they believe it’s for a higher cause, like the jihad, but they don’t like it. If the jihad for some reason proves illegitimate, the whole arrangement breaks down. If their violence is not authorized, they accrue blood guilt for the people they kill. And they need not take orders from someone not in their clan hierarchy, which I suspect is the case here. Alakazai is a half-breed, and Idris has the look of a
malang
, a man of one of the menial tribes.”

“But even if this is true, Sonia,” says Manjit Nara, “how is this to our advantage?”

“I’m not sure yet, but dreams are very important to these people. I think I’ve almost won over the guard Mahmoud. I mean he’ll still torture me, but his heart’s not in it. And Alakazai doesn’t seem to want to go the full legal route to have me put to death under sharia law. Instead he’s whipped up this supposed psychological torture for me.
That’s not Muslim, that’s simple sadism, and people won’t like it when they find out about it, and Alakazai will lose face when we foil that by putting the choice in God’s hands. Meanwhile, we can expect a big audience for the conference because Pashtuns love talk fests, and I intend to simultaneously translate the presentations into Pashto as you all speak. Among other things, we can make the case that murdering hostages is a violation of sharia law. Which it is.”

This produces an unpleasant snort from Ashton. “But surely you don’t imagine that nice legalities are going to stop these people from doing whatever they want. Mujahideen murder civilians all the time.”

“People who call themselves mujahideen commit all kinds of atrocities, true, but they need some corrupt mullah to give them leave to behave like that. The kind of criticism that the liberal press in Western countries generates has no effect on them, they think it’s hypocrisy. It follows that the only attack that might have some effect is from the
right
, so to speak, from real religion and not from what they consider Godless liberalism. These jihad mullahs are never challenged openly from within Islam, which is what I’ve done here and what I’ll continue to do. These people can’t stand to think of themselves as bandits, they can’t stand to think that if they die they won’t go to Paradise, and they won’t if they’re not in a real jihad.”

Schildkraut turns to Father Shea. “What do you think of that, Mark?”

“You’re asking
me
?”

“You’re our expert on comparative religion.”

The priest scratched at his newly bristling beard. “Yes, and as a Catholic I suppose you think I’m expert in both fanaticism and the furthest reaches of the right wing,” which produces a scholarly chuckle among the group. “Well, I don’t know that it’s a religious issue at all. I believe it was a countryman of yours, Schildkraut, who said, ‘Terrorism is the rage of the literati in its final stages.’ Al-Qaeda and its offshoots are a disease of modernism, however much they dress themselves in traditional clothing. It’s a kind of toxic nostalgia, which is something the Catholic Church only took about five hundred years to deal with, and we’re still not past it yet. They see the modern world of technology and mass media and libertinism and consumerism, and they both desire and despise it. I mean, that’s why we all came here, to talk about the diseased mental states that generate terrorism and violence in this part of
the world. So I think it’s something of a stretch to believe that what you call real religion can have an effect. In fact, whatever they say, they’re not at all religious.
Thou shall not commit murder
is a pretty basic rule for the genuinely religious.”

Manjit Nara laughs and says, “Ah, at last we are having our conference.”

“Yes, and I believe, all things considered,” says Amin, “that we would have been better off holding it at the hotel in Lahore. But I think Sonia has another arrow to her bow. I find it interesting about the dream work you are doing with our hosts. Have you ever done this for traditional Muslims?”

“No, but my practice in America includes a number of American Indians and Chicanos, and those are both highly traditional cultures. I’m assuming the same techniques apply.”

“Perhaps,” Amin says, frowning. “It’s a risky enterprise. They already accuse you of witchcraft. What’s your purpose?”

“To promote harmony and help those astray to return to the true path,” says Sonia blandly.

Ashton says, “You mean you’re manipulating them to serve your purposes, which, since I assume we all have the common purpose of staying alive here, I must heartily approve.”

“No, I’m absolutely sincere. But I’m convinced the outcome will be the same.”

“Oh, spare us! You sincerely believe that these maniacs, and I use the term literally, will respond to your messing about with their oedipal complexes?”

“Not at all. Psychotherapy is culture-bound. In Western society the psyche is considered to be individual, and the therapist works toward individuation. Even Jung, who understood that this was an illusion, worked this way in his practice. The basic stance of the Western therapist is to resolve interior conflicts within the different segments of the individual psyche. We observe, for example, a dominant father figure who limits the freedom of the client. If you’re Freudian you try to bring the oedipal tension to consciousness; if you’re a Jungian, you try to integrate the paternal introject, and other brands of therapies try to do the same thing under different names, but the goal is always the
same: the freedom of the individual to fulfill his or her potential without neurotic limitations. This is not the case with traditional Muslims.”

“It’s not?” says Ashton. “You’re suggesting they
like
being mad?”

“No, I’m saying it’s a Western delusion that all psychological problems are reducible to restrictions on individual freedom. In other cultures, including the one we’re talking about, the highest value is not freedom at all. It’s harmony within the family and the tribe and the sense that the person is doing the right thing with respect to tradition.”

“Are you serious? What if the family or the tribe or whatever is oppressive? Surely you wouldn’t justify the way our hosts treat women.”

“That’s quite besides the point, Harold. My job is not to justify a culture or to encourage rebellion from it, but to enable a client to live as successfully as possible within it, without neurotic symptoms. In the West, that means reducing interior conflict. In the Muslim world, it means reducing exterior conflicts.”