“Skål” shouts every person in the
bar, clinking glasses together.
The chairman of the Gunvaldsson-Preem
Oil Al Sherika stands up to make his Al Hijra speech.
“It has been a good year for the
GPOS, we have made new partnership agreements with Arabian Oil, and
thanks to lobbying with the Al Urdun government we are now allowed to
trade with Jordanian Britain and France,” pausing for emphasis he
continues “however, before I let you return to celebrations we must
remember we have goals for the coming year. GPOS is attempting to
buy the rights to an ex-soviet pipeline. It was partly destroyed
during the Revolution, Alhamdulillah, but the Al Urdun is considering
allowing it to be repaired.” He points to a couple of managers in
the room “and we want that contract, Inshallah” he pauses again
taking a deep breath and recites a short prayer of thanks for Al
Hijra, the new year.
When the moment of silence had elapsed
he proclaimed “alright everyone, happy new year and I hope to see
you all in good health on Monday morning.”
The whole room claps respectfully and
the hum of conversation returns. This is one of the two times a year
the employees are allowed out of work for anything other than
praying, at the mosque (for men), or at home (for women). Andie
knows that she is only allowed to meet publically because Sweden is
so far from the center of the Al Urdun empire. Here the two sexes are
allowed to work, and occasionally socialize despite the strict Sharia
Law. There are, unfortunately, growing rumors this behavior will not
be tolerated by the new government.
Andie sits at the back of the room that
used to be a bar and contemplates this rumor. She can't seem to get
as excited as everyone else about Al Hijra. She is upset that even
her native words are being used in such a restricted way. “Skål”
means “toast” sure, but she should be toasting to a good new year
with family. But she can't. Not since her father was taken by
Sharia Police three years ago for having a book on world history
pre-Occupation.
She taps her glass of doough
with her neighbour's and takes a gulp of the yoghurty drink with ice
and mint. She wonders when the last time this bar was a place of
debauchery like the government portrays of Western
American life. Probably not since the Occupation. No
one else in this room would likely call the fifty year period of Al
Urdun empire ruling Sweden “the Occupation,” more likely they
would call it the Great Islamic Revolution or just Revolution. Her
mouth is suddenly very dry. She takes a refreshing sip, remembering
the images of old Sweden in her father's book.
“What's wrong Rasima?” comes from
across the table at Andie.
“Nothing, just thinking about the
amount of work to do once New Year's is over. What are you thinking
about Ebrahim?”
“Oh same as you, although I am
excited to meet the woman who my mother and father have chosen for me
to marry, Inshallah” Andie smiles at this, secretly glad that her
brother has no intention of marrying her off as if she is some sort
of property to be sold. At least their father taught them that,
before he was taken. Her father called her Andie and her brother
Bengt-Arne as their private rebellion to the Occupation. To everyone
outside their family, including Bengt-Arne's wife, she is known as
Rasima, her brother as Hussein.
She looks over at Ebrahim, “Do you
think you will be married this year? The mullahs say it is an
auspicious year for marriage”
Ebrahim thinks for a moment as he sips
his doough. He is a spiritual man who seems respectful and honest.
His face looks strong, tan and youthful now but Andie predicts that
he will look drawn and tired as soon as he begins to grow his beard
after marriage.
“Well so far my mother and father,
Inshallah, have not chosen the best women for me. The first one was
pretty enough, but her family had a history of mental illness that my
parents said should be overlooked. Since I am the oldest and will be
the man of the family when my father dies, my wife should not have
depression in her genes. And although she said she was 20 but Age
Test confirmed she was nearly 23, too old” he takes another sip and
looks Andie in the eye “It is amazing how women still try to lie
about their age.” Then he casually adds “When will your brother
choose a husband for you?”
Andie knows this is becoming a
frequently asked question. Since her brother is married and has many
children, there is really no need for her to do the same. She knows
that her boss will not put up with having a single woman in the
office of her age. Once she has been fired she will eventually pass
an Age Test checkpoint on the street and the Sharia Police will take
her.
“I know my brother is looking for
someone perfect, and I only have to wait, Inshallah, for the right
man” she responds after a moment.
“Well he had better not wait too much
longer, or...” and he lets the sentence drop off. Andie begins to
think maybe he isn't as respectful as she had originally thought.
The fact that he would allude to her age or even the sanitarium means
he is rude at best. But she ignores this and smiles gently at him.
“I have many years before I need to
worry about that” she lies, hoping her smile hid that one day soon
they will try to forcibly sterilize her. In
the Al Urdan Empire, any woman who reaches the age of 25
without having been married or producing offspring within marriage is
sterilized and removed from society. This is just part of the skewed
version of Sharia Law that was forced on Sweden during the
Occupation. Most citizens go along with disappearances and limited
rights. Andie can't blame those who have a natural desire to live.
After World War III when the Al Urdun decimated Eastern Europe, there
weren't many choices. But Andie has made a different choice: to find
the rebellion and to help them, Inshallah.
