Samyaza Chapter 9 Camp Mitkan Adam and Ashkelon June 2006. The Clash Between the Old and the New

Contains content of a sexual nature.

Afarin stared at the morning light behind the blinds and she thought of a song: She’s so lovely, and it had felt so wrong, yet so right.

I like Pussy, she thought with a shock, my education in matters carnal continues.

She imagined her end of tour report and Alan Bartlett reading it, SAC Khan, codename Samyaza showed some promise on the course and has proved herself to be a rug-muncher par excellence. Her body tingled in a way that it didn’t when Jean-Claude had made love to her. Different and good in a different way. Jean-Claude had been gentle but he was a man with different urges. Heyfa was a woman and instinctively knew which buttons to press. Afarin suddenly realised the other woman was looking at her intently, as she saw her eyes gleam in the dimness.

“Do you have regrets, my Persian Princess?”

“Mmmm no. Where my family is from, if a woman lies with another woman, under Sharia law this is punishable by death by stoning. You would not have made me come, because I would have been cut. The whole process means women can only have babies, no clitoris or labia, no pleasure.”

“Some of the Palestinians do it to their little girls and It’s fucking barbaric. You must be so glad that your family lived in England.”

“But it still goes on. My mother and sister tried to ship me back to Afghanistan so I could be cut. My father was weak, but at least that time he put his foot down. That is the problem with our society, we move to another country but we never integrate, just cling to our culture in ghettos.”

“You must be very grateful to the English.”

“I am. That’s why I fight for them. But the problem is I span cultures, too Afghan for the English, not Afghan enough for the Muslim boys who are few and far between. They are in my eyes, disgusting mummy’s boys, whose lust and perversion are tolerated and actively encouraged in the community. The English are too frightened of being called racists to tackle the problem of mass child rape, committed by mainly Pakistani men.

“I’ll ask you the question about you, Heyfa. Do you have any regrets and what do you prefer, girls or boys?”

“I have no regrets, because you are beautiful and I have wanted to make love with you the and feel your body next to me from the first time I saw you. You are the first girl I have slept with. I like boys, but life is about exploration and new experiences and there are no men on our course who I would want to make love with, or any of the other women, apart from you.”

“The first, God I never knew.”

Heyfa stroked Afarin’s breasts and kissed the bruises that had turned a dark blue, surrounded by yellow. She moved up and gently kissed her lip, that was still swollen and the healing abrasion on her cheek.

“That bastard really hurt you. Just because his girlfriend left him and he saw her in you.”

“I hurt him as well. That’s the trouble with me. I’m a fighter and I enjoy fear. Fucked up, eh?”

“You should have been a boy.”

“I often wish I was, but being a girl has its benefits,” she tweaked Heyfa’s nipple, Let’s have a shower together.”

As she got out of bed, she caught sight of her bruised breasts in a mirror and was shocked. No wonder they hurt, but there were other aspects of her body that surprised her. Her shoulders looked broader and her stomach was hard and flat. She looked at the reflection of her legs that showed they were defined with muscle and seemed thinner. In fact, she was quite a lot thinner, thanks to the two hours of hard physical exercise and the hours spent on the ranges every day.

She slipped in the shower next to Heyfa and slowly and sensually they washed each other with a shower gel. Heyfa looked at the little pendent on a chain around Afarin’s neck.

“Why do you wear a symbol of Sain Michael? He is a Christian saint.”

“Because it was a leaving gift from my guardian angel and Saint Michael is the patron saint of soldiers.”

As they dried themselves, Afarin asked, “Heyfa, do you have any extra virgin olive oil?”

“Yes, why? Do you want to do some cooking?”

She put the two towels on the bed and told Heyfa to lie down. In the kitchenette she put a small amount of the oil in a pan and gently heated it until it was just warm.

“Close your eyes, empty your mind and relax. This is good for the skin.”

Afarin tried to remember her night with Jean-Claude and how he had massaged her with the oil. She soon got the hang of it, using just enough oil to allow her hands to glide over Hayfa’s skin, concentrating on her back and the sides of her breasts. She was giving little murmurs of pleasure. She ordered her to turn over and poured a little more oil between her breasts and went back to her neck, leaning forward and nibbling her neck. Down slowly on the breasts, just brushing her nipples before moving down to the rigid muscles of her stomach, then the front of her thighs, just brushing the mons. The bottom of her feet then back up to her breasts, longer this time and she groaned softly. She pressed the stomach slightly harder, then down to her hip bones and the pubis again circling it with gentle strokes. She was breathing deeply and quickly now on the edge of her orgasm and she ran his hands either side of her cleft, just as Jean-Claude had done to her, then pressed down firmly with her thumbs.

She cried out as though in pain arching her back and she came hard, shaking with the power of the little death. She held her gently while Heyfa shook with emotion and she stared up at her with a dreamy smile.

“Oh my God, I thought I was going to die. You said you’ve never made love with a girl before?”

“I Haven’t. It’s something my boyfriend did to me, well I call him a boyfriend but he’s more of a…”

“Lover?”

Afarin shook her head, “No, he’s my guardian angel.”

Heyfa sat up to look at her, suddenly interested, “He’s a bodyguard?”

“No, not really.”

“So, what does he do?”

“He’s a spook and works for MI6.”

“Like James Bond?”

“No. James Bond is a bastard to women.”

“So what? Timothy Dalton can be a bastard to me any time he likes. Much better than Pierce Brosnan. Do you work for MI6, like Mossad?”

“Sometimes. We are employed by them and we are agents. Those who serve are called Officers. When I came back from Iraq, my boss in MI6 was worried about me. He thought I was hyper alert all the time and suffering from stress, so he put my guardian angel to watch out for me. He followed me when I went on holiday, but I knew there was someone on my tail. I think he wanted me to know he was looking after me, and then, well it just clicked between us. I’m not experienced in matters of sex, but he turned me from an adult to a woman.”

Heyfa was interested in this man, “Do you love him?”

Afarin leaned back and looked at the ceiling, “No not at the moment, but I think I will. Do you have anyone special to you?”

Heyfa smiled, “Yes, but I haven’t met him yet. A nice, handsome and kind Christian boy. Once fucking Hezbollah has been kicked out of The Lebanon, I will meet him, we will grow oranges on the slopes of Er Rahal and he will give me three children. I will love them all and watch them prosper and grow, and I will die, God willing when my time comes and be part of the Lebanon, dust to dust.”

Afarin looked at her and brushed a tear away, “Heyfa, that is so beautiful. Why on earth do you want to get into this business?”

“The Jews are a means to an end and I will have to fight with them to fulfil my dream, but why are you in this undertaking?”

“Because I was sent here by London. To learn from the Israelis and to impart my experience to you.”

“I’m glad you came, and thank you for sharing my bed. I could love you if you weren’t a girl.”

Afarin was struck at how strange this life was. Inside she was sad, because she had no dreams for the future like Heyfa. She knew she was a dead woman walking and one day, her fate would catch up with her. She was no slut, but she grabbed every opportunity that came her way and she loved the intimacy of giving herself to Jean-Claude and this Christian girl, but her real love had gone and she missed the chance. Guy Jarvis could have made her happy, but he was probably with someone else… That or dead. The thought chilled her to her bones because she was committing a long, protracted suicide.

Heyfa put her arms round her and said in her ear, “What do you want to do today, my Persian Princess?”

“I don’t know Israel at all. You tell me, or we could just stay all day in bed.”

“That’s something special to look forward to tonight. Why don’t we go to Ashkelon on the coast? It’s not far.”

Afarin looked at her, “What’s there?”

“Nice beaches, much quieter than Tel Aviv, a nature reserve.”

“Beaches?” Afarin asked in a worried voice.

It was as though Heyfa could read her mind, “Don’t worry. You won’t be taking your top off.”

She watched Heyfa get dressed, “Do you think it’s strange, a Muslim making love to a Christian, in a Jewish country?”

“No!” she was adamant, “Some things transcend the simple concepts of nationality and religion. And thank God, because otherwise life would become a horrible, religious hell hole.”

Afarin smiled, “You think the same way as I do.”

“Do I? You see. I couldn’t help noticing, that when you are off duty you wear a hijab, which is a symbol of oppression. That’s your choice and none of my business, I was just curious as to why.”

Afarin lay back on the bed thoughtfully, “I think my guardian angel put it succinctly. He said: Afarin you have completed one of the toughest military courses in the world. You speak several languages. You are intelligent, tough and resolute, trusted by your peers and superiors. If you wear a hijab, make it for the right reasons, not as a shield or a defensive barrier. I couldn’t have put it better.”

“Then get rid of it, until we need to wear them.”

“I can’t yet, Heyfa, but I promise not to wear it when I’m with you.”

“Are you a practicing Muslim?”

“No. I hate everything about it. No joy, laughter or love, just oppression, intolerance and murder, by the vilest means dreamed by mankind. I don’t even believe in God, but I respect people’s desire for faith and as long as it doesn’t interfere with my life, good luck to them.”

Heyfa looked long and hard at the other woman, her head om one side, “Are you at war with yourself, Afarin? Do you hate the Muslim faith and in the process, hate yourself?”

“I am flawed, I know that. I sometimes hate life and Islam, so I suppose I am at war with myself.”

“Oh, Afarin. I wish you could find peace and contentment in your life. One day you will, and you’ll find life is a better experience for you and those around you. Right, I’m ready. You have five minutes and then I’m going without you.”
Afarin hurriedly dressed, picked up her weapons and headed back to her apartment. She got rid of her best clothes and pulled on a pair of shorts and a simple, sleeveless top, no underwear. She looked at her hijab sadly and left it over a chair. Heyfa was waiting for her in her little car and opened the passenger door.

“Going my way?”

They were on their way heading west towards Tel Aviv and then took the southerly road to Ashkelon. They found a radio station from Cyprus and sang along with the 1980s hits, two young women out enjoying themselves. Afarin noticed that there were few cars and virtually no lorries on the roads and the air coming in through the opened windows was scented with pine. They drove towards the beach area, which was surrounded by low and medium rise apartments and there were very few people about.

“Ahh the Sabbath,” Heyfa said sarcastically.

All of the booths were closed and would reopen around 18:00. They walked along the beach, enjoying the sea air. There were a few couples sitting on the beach, mainly European, but decently clothed, respecting the Jewish holy day. A group of Haredi Jews, who in Israel declared that Torah study is their profession were exempt from compulsory military service or served for a short period until the law changed in 2014. They were dressed in traditional dark clothes with hats. The side of their heads were adorned by a single curl of hair. As they walked past, they looked with disgust at Afarin and Heyfa’s choice of clothes.

One of them said: “Shiksha,” and Heyfa rounded on them angrily.

“How dare you! I tell you what, Black Hats, go back to your bald women and read your scriptures, while me and my colleague defend your worthless hides. תפתח את הראש!, חלאה!”

“Shiska?” asked Afarin.

“It means sluts.”

“That isn’t nice. We’re not sluts, are we?”

Heyfa patted her shoulder, “Religious extremism does terrible things to people. Don’t take it to heart, Habibti. ”

They walked down the beach to the National Park and looked for the ruins, that made this place famous. Heyfa was quite knowledgeable about the place, and she told her that: “In 1815, Lady Hester Stanhope’s expedition to Ashkelon constituted the first modern archaeological excEvation in Palestine. Using a medieval Italian manuscript as her guide, she persuaded the Ottoman authorities to allow her to excEvate the site in search of a large hoard of gold coins allegedly buried under the ruins of the Ashkelon Mosque

“Further exploration revealed several distinct phases in the history of the structure, leading to the conclusion that the site had originally been a pagan temple converted into a church and then a mosque. Stanhope’s main find was a seven-foot headless marble statue, which was smashed and thrown into the sea.”

They spent some time clambering around the ruins and then Heyfa suggested they should sit on the beach and watch the sun go down. It had a reflected trail in the sea that grew in intensity as the sun sank lower. The scene was sublimely beautiful and she sat and rested her head on Heyfa’s shoulder.

“Follow the sun, that takes me home.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Home? Yes, more than you could ever know. I was so lonely and homesick, which is strange because I had no friends back there, except perhaps for my guardian angel.”

Heyfa played with Afarin’s hair, “At least you have a country you can call home.”

“I’m so sorry. That was thoughtless of me. Please forgive me,” Afarin said.

“You’re forgiven, Habibti,” Heyfa said to her.”

They watched the last of the sun pour itself into the Mediterranean and stood up stiffly, “Let’s find somewhere to eat.”

They walked back to Heyfa’s car and noticed there were more people on the streets. Couples holding hands and children running around. They drove out of town and Heyfa saw there was an Italian restaurant ahead on the left. She pulled in on the opposite side of the road and switched off the engine.

“Italian, mmmm pasta,” Afarin said.

“Afarin, I have a favour to ask. Can you drive my car back to camp?”

“I suppose so, why? Are you copping off with somebody?”

“No. I want to have half a bottle of wine with my dinner. Do you mind?”

Afarin smiled, “No of course not. I wish I could join you, but well, you know.”

“Thank you,” Heyfa said and ran her hand up the other woman’s thigh.

“You’re not wearing any briefs, you naughty girl!”

“You didn’t give me enough time to get ready, besides, I like the feeling of freedom.”

“Those Haredis would have popped their cork if they knew that, and so would I.”

They went in the restaurant that was filling ap and sat at a table near the window. A few people looked at their weapons and the way they were dressed, but sensibly said nothing. They looked at the menu and Afarin asked if a pasta in tomato sauce was Evailable, as she still had difficulty reading Hebrew.

“Yes, it’s there, pasta with baby tomatoes and pine nuts, garnished with coriander and topped with parmesan cheese.”

“What are you having?”

“Fish. Tuna, baked with tomatoes, chillies and capers, then bread and cheese. I may have to have a bottle of red, to go with the tuna and the cheese.”

“You’d better not criticise my driving after putting all of that away!”

“Would the Imam be cross with me, Afarin?”

“Forty lashes with defoliated palm branches.”

“No wonder Muslims hate everything to do with fun and enjoyment.”

Afarin nodded sadly, “And very soon we’re going to learn how to walk, speak, act and think like Arabs, or rather you are.”

When the food came, they tucked into it, not realising how hungry they were. Heyfa enthused about the fish and the wine and soon the restaurant was packed, a hubbub of noise.

“The sun has gone down on the Sabbath and so they scurry out and start to live.”

“You must have religious constraints in the Lebanon, Heyfa.”

“Some of the Armenian Orthodox can be a little strict and the young men scourge themselves on Good Friday. Bloody idiots.”

“That’s quite harsh on your own religion.”

“In the Lebanon there are Maronite Catholics that make up over fifty per-cent of the Christians in Lebanon. Then there are the Greek and Armenian Orthodox and very few Druze that don’t follow Christianity as we would understand it.”

“Hoffman’s wife is Druze,” Afarin told her.

“Really? How do you know?”

“Because I said a stupid thing to him, accusing him of disliking Muslims. He went mad and chewed me out, not in the nice sense.”

“That was silly,” Heyfa said to her, “I think Hoffman is one of the good guys.”

“He may be. He just doesn’t like showing it to me. I think he finds it difficult to read me.”

They finished off with some olives and sat at the table for a while, full and contented.

“I’m stuffed, let’s go back to camp. I need my bed,” Heyfa said.

Back at the car, Afarin got in the drivers’ seat and adjusted it, because she was shorter than Heyfa. As they drove along, Heyfa started to softly sing a Lebanese folk song with English words. She was still singing when they pitched up at the camp checkpoint and the guard inspected them and the car, before raising the barrier to let them in. They drove up to the car park and Afarin handed her the keys.

“Good night, Heyfa. I’ve had a lovely time and thank you for… Well, you know what for.”

She kissed her and went to walk towards her apartment.

“Where are you going?” Heyfa asked.

“Back to my apartment.”

“Why? We’ve got all tomorrow, and I want to fuck your brains out.”

Afarin smiled, “I didn’t want to assume.”

She went to her and they embraced and Heyfa led her by the hand into her apartment.

A man was watching silently from the woods, his large dog sitting patiently, waiting for its master to move on. He had been doing his pastoral care for the two women left behind over Pentecost and he wanted to make sure they weren’t lonely. Afarin’s bed-sit was empty.  He looked at the coupleand smiled gently to himself.

“I don’t think we need to worry about them feeling lonely or deserted. They seem to have everything pretty much in hand, Kalev. I think the two most beautiful women on the course have found an outlet. Christian and Muslim. How strange yet hopeful. Let’s go home.”

He walked in the shadows of the wood, slowly and deliberately. His dog walking obediently to heel. Staff Sergeant Hoffman headed for the guard room for a cup of tea and the duty staff made a great deal of fuss of the Dog. Kalev was a war dog.

***

The next morning, Heyfa slipped gently out of bed and went for a wee and to clean her teeth. She slipped back into bed and regarded Afarin’s still sleeping body. She groaned and turned onto her back, still asleep and Heyfa wrapped her left arm under her, from where she could pay attention to Afarin’s sensitive areas. Her right hand moved down and gently stroked her, very lightly to start with. She heard Afarin’s breathing becoming more pronounced and her eyes snapped open.

“What are you doing…? Oh.”

“This is to thank you for the olive oil treatment yesterday,” Heyfa said and kissed her, then nibbled her nipple. Afarin groaned.

She was so good, knowing where to be gentle and where to be harder. Afarin felt like a splayed Jezebel and she couldn’t care less. She was on the verge of coming and then Heyfa stopped.

“For God’s sake carry on… Please!”

Heyfa was slow and deliberate, watching the other woman’s eyes. She loved to see the dilated pupils and nuzzled Afarin’s neck, then moved down to her breasts. Inevitably she came and by prolonging it, it was much more intense. Afarin’s back arched up and a low  cry was forced from her. She stared upwards with blank eyes, her body shuddering, then the eyes focused and she looked at Heyfa. Afarin burst into floods of tears.

“Heyfa looked concerned, “Are you all right? Have I hurt you?”

“No, it was wonderful. I always cry… Oh God, I need a wee.”

When she came back, Heyfa noticed her body was blotchy, but the patches faded very quickly. She lay next to Heyfa with her arms round her.

“That’s it, I’m cursed and destined to spend eternity in Jahannam. …Those who deny (their Lord), for them will be cut out a garment of Fire. Over their heads will be poured out boiling water. With it will be scalded what is within their bodies, as well as (their) skins. In addition, there will be maces of iron (to punish) them. Every time they wish to get away therefrom, from anguish, they will be forced back, and (it will be said), “Taste the Penalty of Burning!” Koran (22:19-22).”

“Nice,” Heyfa said, “You’re a pretty clever bunch at the old human misery bit. Is Muslim heaven a bit livelier?”

“Allah hath promised to Believers, men and women, gardens under which rivers flow, to dwell therein, and beautiful mansions in gardens of everlasting bliss. But the greatest bliss is the good pleasure of Allah. That is the supreme felicity (9:72).”

“So, it’s either garments of fire, boiling water and iron maces, or a spot of gardening and the good pleasure of Allah.”

“But the best on the paradise front is for those who die a martyr’s death, such as blowing themselves to pieces. According to the religious text of Islam, male martyrs will receive 72 virgin maidens in paradise as a reward for their sacrifice.”

“Provided they haven’t blown the virgin maidens to pieces in the process. What do women martyrs get, seventy-two sets of washing to do?”

“It doesn’t say.”

“Typical. Probably too busy sewing those suicide vests to take part in mindless killing. Do you know, I’ve seen Palestinian kids wearing toy suicide vests, with Death to Israel daubed on the back. Hateful little fuckers!”

“It’s kind of difficult for them when the Israelis keep building settlements on the West Bank. I’m not excusing Palestinian terrorism, I’m just trying to understand it. After all, in the next part of training, we’ll learn to think like Arabs.”

Heyfa sighed, “This advanced infantry training just seems to never stop. What is it next week?”

“Air power. How to call in an air strike or request a dust off. I just hope Dan behaves himself.”

A helicopter going overhead shook the blinds and they heard it disappear into the distance.

“He has,” Heyfa told her, “He won’t have a bad word said about you.”

“Why do you keep going on about Gad and me?”

“Because he told Aisha that he thinks you’re beautiful. He is besotted with you. Do you remember the clearing of that complex, he fought like a lion?”

“He was very brave,” Afarin admitted.

“He did it for you, Habibti. Not any sense of duty or because he had to. He did it for you and your approval. Do you like Gad?”

“Yes I do, but he seems so quiet.”

“So were you,” Heyfa said, “He has spent too long in listening posts, making radio intercepts of Syrian troop movements. He even does it in an aircraft, out and listening to the Egyptians. Now he has to interact with people and he is painfully shy.”

Afarin nodded, “That explains it.”

“Would you make love to Gad?” Heyfa asked earnestly, looking into her eyes.

“I don’t know. I thought I’d come here, train and everyone would hate me because I’m a Muslim.”

“He is a virgin. Would you consider it your civic duty?”

Afarin laughed, “I like Gad. If the circumstances were right… For God’s sake, you’re all turning me into a slut.”

“It wouldn’t be easy. He would be overwhelmed…”

They both sat up as outside, sirens started to wail in their sickening, undulating way.

“What’s happening, Heyfa?”

“Fucking Hamas. They are firing rockets from Gaza again.”

“What do we do? Go to a shelter?”

“If you want to spend a few hours jammed in a bunker with recruits, go ahead. This bed is in an alcove formed by a stairwell, the strongest part of the building. I’ll hold you if you’re frightened.”

“Hold me anyway. It’s nice.

Presently they heard explosions and saw sudden flashes in the night sky, the Iron Dome intercepting the rockets and missiles, fired from Gaza.

 

Habibti – Darling, and can be used with friends and good colleagues.
 

© Blown Periphery 2022