(no subject)

[kayip]

July 8, 2012

"- in what appears to be the first death in a growing number of racially-motivated attacks in the area –"

Somehow, after hearing it about ten times, the appropriate reaction was gone – the words wash over them like a small tide, and no eyes even flicker at or away from the television.

"Maybe we should paint over it," Sareh says quietly, poking at the rice in front of her with her fork instead of eating it. "It's kind of distracting to go in to prayer with all that 'deport them all' stuff written all over it."

This exact phrase hadn't appeared in black spray paint on the walls of their mosque, but no one points that out, as she was just avoiding using the certain words that had been there.

"There's no money for it," Farid answers her, looking away from the television that's been propped up at the end of the table. "And it's going to be kind of hard to have prayer there, anyway, if they arrest our imam."

Sareh mumbles something that sounds like 'just talking', but Behrooz is paying more attention to the television again than either of them. His fork touches something that's probably meat, and Behrooz idly stabs at it without looking down.

" – after yesterday's failed attacks in New York –"

The door opens, and Sareh blinks up from staring at her plate. "Mâdar, do you need help?"

Her mother shakes her head, pushing her dark hair out of her face as she takes a seat at the table again. "There are only a couple people out there. I think we should just close for the day when they leave."

Behrooz can recognize the nervous glances Farid and Sareh share at this, though their mother seems to be trying to ignore them as she, too, begins poking at her food. Sareh, apparently trying to ignore the tv, looks in the direction of the window.

"I think that police car's passed three times now."

It's been five. Behrooz doesn't say this.

"Then maybe they'll get hungry," her mother answers instead. Sareh rests her head in her hand turns back to the tv as Behrooz hears his phone ring.

"Oh," he says quietly, after opening it, "I – have to go –"

Sareh looks over interestedly, and a few days ago, she probably would've made some joke about him actually having a social life. But if she were going to say it now, her mother speaks first. "Go ahead – we'll be fine for the night."

"Orhan – be careful," Sareh calls to him from the door, and it's as he's heading out the front that the news anchor's voice becomes almost familiarly urgent.

" – breaking news out of Detroit –"


*


There'd been an air of apprehension and disappointment in this room since the day before, but it seemed mostly gone now. Behrooz manages to look amazed, or at least interested, but has to work to not let his expression fall back into weariness as they watched the news.

But the images included bloodied veils, colorful posters burnt and strewn on the ground, black marks against the walls of a mosque in Detroit, where Muslims and others had been holding a peace gathering. Firuz, whether Behrooz's eyes seemed to grow tired too often, or he just thought perhaps the boy would have reservations about killing Muslims, took a seat next to him.

"They were not faithful, brother," he says quietly, and Behrooz makes himself turn away from the screen and meet the man's eyes. "They seek to deceive God and the believers, but they only deceive themselves."

(though they do not perceive it)

Behrooz makes himself nod obediently. It's not like he hasn't heard plenty of that before – he'd just been hoping he'd never have to again. Firuz looks at him for another moment, then takes out his cell phone. It beeps a few times, and then he looked up again. "Here, look at this."

He doesn't know what to expect, but it doesn't matter – there's no way Behrooz could have prepared himself for what was on that screen. It's small, and not very clear, but it's more than enough to see what it is.

"He tried to pretend to be one of us, Orhan. That is a great sin –"

Behrooz isn't listening. The only reason he's able to keep his composure at all is that this isn't the first time he's seen a severed head. His eyes go down the glowing keys so he doesn't have to look at it, and he pushes it back into Firuz's hands as quickly as possible without looking too eager to do so.

But worst of all, he's fairly sure he knows whose face that was. And he forces himself to stammer out – "How – did you – get it, then?"

Firuz closes the phone. "We don't know who the others are – if something is passed along, it's one to the next, and we keep any numbers hidden."

Behrooz just nods, and mumbles something about needing to use the bathroom before getting up. He can at least feel relieved that Firuz doesn't seem very concerned.


*


"How do you know that name?" the man asks sharply. Behrooz is staring at the ground, and doesn't move.

"He – worked in LA. Two years ago on – that day. I remembered his name."

The woman was speaking to someone on her cell phone, and he heard her murmur, "yes, Manning – " before he looks up to the man. "He said they don't know who the others are, you should just arrest them now."

And it's that same look, the one that tells Behrooz to shut up, that he's not in charge of this, that they're not going to listen to him just yet.

"Why haven't you guys done anything yet?"

"I don't know," Behrooz answers, his own frustration coming out now. "I don't know, maybe it isn't time yet, I don't know what they're doing, we're just watching everything else."

"How do you know –"

"They wouldn't have had that picture," the woman interrupts, closing her phone. "Manning is supposed to be in Detroit."

And even after all that, there is still the sinking feeling, the smallest bit of hope that he could've been right all along disappearing. Very quietly, "Just arrest them."

The woman speaks this time. "It's still better if they don't know we-"

"It's not working." Behrooz stares at the ground. "You're not helping anyone."

"Don't tell us how to do our job," the man answers immediately. Behrooz doesn't look up.

"I – told you – our imam –"

"We're investigating leads, Orhan," he interrupts. "And that's not what you should be thinking about."

And Behrooz would like to ask how he very well can't think about it, about what it means, but he doesn't. It seems the woman doesn't even try to sound believable when she says, "Don't worry – it's going to be ok."