Credit: Illustration by Dan Blomberg
It began innocently enough. Christmas-time and no money. I went down into the cellar and searched deeply for something to give the children. Something they wouldn't have already found during their hajjes down there.
On a high shelf, behind bundles of sticks waiting for the cold, I could just see an old wooden chest, pushed far back into a corner. I dropped some of the bundles on to the floor and pushed the others out of the way, and with some difficulty slid the chest to the edge of the shelf. From the thick layer of dust on top, I assumed it was from my father's time or before.
I had a warning thought: Don't open it. Call the authorities.
But just above the lock was engraved the name. John Billings Washington. John Washington was my father's slave name. I think the Billings middle name was his father's. The box probably went back to the 20th century.
The lock was rusted tight, but the hasp was loose. I got down from the ladder and found a large screwdriver that I could use to pry it open.
I slid the chest out and balanced it on my shoulder, and carefully stepped down, the ladder creaking. I set it on the workbench and hung one lantern from the rafter over it, and set the other on a stack of scrap wood beside.
The screaming that the screws made, coming out of the hardwood, was so loud that it was almost funny, considering that I supposedly was working in secret. But Miriam was pumping out chords on the organ, singing along with Fatimah, rehearsing for the Christmas service. I could have fired a pistol and no one would have heard it.
The hasp swung free and the top lifted easily, with a sigh of brass. Musty smell and something else. Gun oil. A grey cloth bundle on top was heavy. Of course it held a gun.
It's not unusual to find guns left over from the old times; there were so many. Ammunition was rare, though. This one had two heavy magazines.
I recognised it from news and history pictures, an Uzi, invented and used by the old infidel state Israel. I set it down and wiped my hands.
It would not be a good Christmas present. Perhaps for Eid ul-Adha, for Ibriham, when he is old enough to decide whether he is to be called. A Jewish weapon, he would laugh. I could ask the imam whether to cleanse it and how.
There were three cardboard folders under the gun, once held together with rubber bands, which were just sticky lines now. They were full of useless documents about land and banking.
Underneath them, I caught a glimpse of something that looked like pornography. I looked away immediately, closed my eyes, and asked Muhammad and Jesus for strength. Then I took it out and put it in the light.
It was in a plastic bag that had stamped on it 'nitrogen seal'. What a strange word, a tech word from the old times.
The book inside had the most amazing picture on the front. A man and a woman, both white, embracing. But the woman is terrified. The man seems only resolute, as he fires a strange pistol at a thing like a giant squid, green as a plant. The woman's head is uncovered, and at first she seems naked, but in fact her clothes are simply transparent, like some dancers'. The book is called Thrilling Wonder Stories, and is dated "Summer 1944". That would be 1365, more than a hundred years before Chrislam.
I leafed through the book, fascinated in spite of its carnal and infidel nature. Most of it seemed to be tales - not religious parables or folk tales, but lies that were made up at the time, for entertainment. Perhaps there was moral instruction as well. Many of the pictures did show men in situations that were physically or morally dangerous.
