But the Lord Will Deliver Them (3)
What the hell was this kid's problem now?
I paused in confusion for a moment, but as Shahidi's sermon continued, I had to stifle a laugh that bubbled up unbidden.
"It's improper for an outsider to casually utter the name of a chaste woman. Since she has no husband or son, you should address her as the daughter of Batur. Her father, Gularam Batur, was a Muslim without blemish."
What a stickler for rules. This pup was spouting the petty etiquette favored by some hardcore fundamentalist Muslims. In essence, women weren't to be called by name but by their relation to a man—daughter of so-and-so, wife of so-and-so, sister of so-and-so, mother of so-and-so. The thick-headed zealots whom even Allah would spit into hell believed this was how you respected women. Naturally, it was far from common among Uyghurs, whose worldly faith was more prevalent. One of the two major exile governments, the World Uyghur Congress, had even seen a woman serve as president, proving how open their Islam truly was.
Swallowing my amusement with effort, I asked with feigned politeness, "A chaste woman, you say? From what I heard, back when you were in the camps, you denounced her as a traitor and pointed fingers at her. How can you call a woman who betrayed her faith and people chaste?"
"How do you know about that? Did she tell you herself?!"
"And if she did?"
"Allah! You led her into sin! If you had questions, you should have sent another woman to ask and receive answers. Not converse directly with her, as a man!"
"That's surprising. And unexpected."
"What is?!"
"The way you go to such lengths to 'respect' her."
My use of "respect" in standard Mandarin carried a subtle sneer, but instead of raging, Shahidi clamped his mouth shut, his face eloquently betraying his tangled emotions. After much inner turmoil, he finally spoke again, his voice heavy with anguish.
"To avoid misunderstanding, I'll tell you the plain truth. She—the daughter of Batur—was a scapegoat for everyone locked in that camp."
"A scapegoat? You knew she was innocent but framed her anyway?"
"...At the time, we needed a traitor. Someone visible right away, someone we could point at and shower with curses and scorn. It was to reforge the crumbling wills of everyone in that hellish camp life, day by day, with anger and contempt."
"Did it work as planned?"
"Of course. People fear ostracism, don't they? We banded together again. Even the weakest among us straightened up after seeing how she was treated, terrified of the contemptuous stares and whispers from the others. The Korean guards trying to crush our spirits must have been bitterly disappointed by that change. I made them realize anew: easy to kill us, hard to break us."
"Even so, isn't that a bit too brazen? Framing an innocent woman as a criminal."
"I say again, it was unavoidable. The sacrifice of the few for the many is inevitable. Women, weaker in spirit than men and lacking the ability to fight like them, must contribute to the struggle that way. It's the fate of every Uyghur, without exception."
"So you're blameless?"
"No. I sinned, undeniably. But I'll atone through struggle for God and nation. In the end, we're in the same boat—both sacrificing somehow."
"I doubt the daughter of Batur sees it that way. Who's compensating her injustice?"
"She's a daughter of Uyghur before daughter of Batur. No other reward is needed for sacrifice to Uyghur. And..."
"And?"
"I saw her cling to prayer through all that suffering. That's enough. The great Allah declares in the holy book: 'I am closer to him than the vein in his neck. Call upon Me; I will answer you.' Closer than the vein in her neck, Allah knows her wrongs fully."
"In short, compensation comes in the afterlife?"
"Yes. That's Allah's justice, the true faith of every Muslim man and woman. Allahu Akbar. I'm certain her soul enters paradise."
He opened his mouth several times after that, only to close it silently. A twinge of conscience lingered, it seemed, as Shahidi added a justification with an uncomfortable expression.
"Above all... even without my actions, the outcome would have been the same."
"Why's that?"
"Because Gularam Batur's daughter was too beautiful."
"What?"
"We've seen it plenty. Those blessed by Allah with beauty end up selling their souls to Koreans, enjoying undue luxuries as Communist spokespeople justifying our oppression."
"So you assumed she'd do the same?"
"No exceptions. Everyone thought so. Her fall seemed predestined. The Korean guards called her out daily—what else would she endure and return? Already defiled long before..."
Shahidi drew a deep breath, then exhaled like a sigh as he continued.
"Before I even denounced her, the whole camp already anticipated her betrayal. She had no choice but to be the scapegoat. That's the full story of the camp you wondered about—no misunderstandings, please."
Misunderstanding? Hardly. Savoring my satisfaction, I gave slow, deliberate applause.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Shahidi's face twisted with surging emotion.
"Are you mocking me now?"
"Hardly. Those were exactly the words I hoped to hear."
"...What?"
"I'm serious—meeting you is a stroke of luck. If I had faith, I'd call it divine guidance."
No joke. To survive among extremists where reason failed, you needed exactly this mindset.
Above all, I like his unhesitating arrogance and hubris in creating innocent scapegoats.
If this man later joined the Turkistan Islamic Party on his blood-soaked fame, he'd never tolerate comrades opposing him—especially those higher in the pecking order. Normally, he'd swallow his rage, but with my connection, he'd have the perfect outlet: borrowing a knife to kill. A discreet purge via another's hand. When the time felt right, a subtle nudge from me, and Alim Shahidi would sell out the executives, rivals, and factions he wanted gone—without hesitation. All for the greater good, with just a pang of guilt. Like with Maryam Batur.
Then I'd pass the intel to Public Security. The three commissioners would be stunned. How did you get such premium info? Since I'd built his bloody rep first in Uyghur names, the credit for killing independence fighters would draw top Communist attention, showering huge rewards on them.
Meanwhile, tasting clean purges, Shahidi would keep adding to his hit list. Dictators believing themselves sole arbiters always spawned endless opposition. Good for him to solidify power; good for me to fatten my puppets. Mutual symbiosis, each profit feeding the other.
Plus, this bridged Islamic extremists—no need to risk lines to Abu Sayyaf or Abu Turaip in the Philippines, as Suyeon once suggested.
Such satisfaction, and yet Shahidi scowled again.
"If I had faith... You're an atheist, aren't you?"
"Does it matter?"
"Atheists have no souls. Infidels are preferable."
"Atheist or infidel, when the son of Maryam descends on Damascus mosque, we're all dead anyway, right?"
"..."
In Sunni eschatology, infidels and atheists died at Jesus's mere scent. His return first smashed crosses of those deifying him, abolished jizya mercy, and slaughtered all swine—leaving no practical difference between infidels and atheists.
"And the faithful aren't all lightly sinning. Take those degenerate Muslims in Sindh indulging in sodomy—are they better than atheists? Tell me, fellow Muslim."
Shahidi just grimaced at my barrage. Sindh meant the region of Karachi, Pakistan's old capital and 20-million megacity. Pakistan, Sunni-dominated, criminalized homosexuality religiously and legally—yet topped global preference polls. They rationalized it wasn't "homosexuality."
"Really..."
Shahidi sighed after a long pause. No extremist missed rumors of rot in Pakistan and Afghan fringes.
"Really, I can't win with words. Why would God grant such a blasphemous atheist special power? Stronger even than mine, a believer's..."
This pup was among natural Awakeners; his circuit open before I took him in. Barely sprouted, output feeble—but enough to sense others' mana fields. Thus, via his sixth sense, he felt my presence and my subordinates'. Even throttled, I wasn't to be underestimated.
"Such a one offers to help you—call it providence."
"Accept it as God's will? This?"
Shahidi stared bitterly at his hands, a wry smile twisting his lips.
"One day, as I and my brothers slaved under Koreans, miraculous power suddenly dwelled in me. Like a spring in the desert, refreshing my weary body, growing bit by bit. I believed it Allah's blessing. But..."
He sighed again.
"But this power couldn't break iron doors. Soon, Koreans deployed their own powered guards—far stronger than ours. The moment hope shattered..."
I cut in casually, as if trivial.
"A bit early for despair, no?"
"Early? An atheist like you could never grasp our desperation."
"Enough with the atheist jabs. The world changes beyond your sight."
"Changes...?"
"Yes, changes. This power we have now randomly descends on everyone worldwide. Nations face irreversible shifts. Relations too. The powerless suddenly empowered; the crushers must redirect fury outward."
Even last year, the West unified against a reluctant America into an anti-China front. Needing an external enemy to rally, China was ideal.
Especially with anti-China fever peaking from the China-virus. Even illogical links tied immortal cancer to COVID. Rulers rode the wave swiftly. I admired politicians' survival instincts. They sensed they'd be literally fucked otherwise.
'Don't know what this damn superpower shit is, but buy time to soften the shock first...' That level of desperation. Pandemic readiness helped too.
No nation free of contradictions or exploitation. With a tool-like smile, I concluded.
"If your God exists, His will might lurk in this chaos. You'll have time to see during fighter training. Whether I'm right or wrong."
The pup just squinted and tilted his head ambiguously.