The Yeomen of England (Posleen in England)



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Chapter Two: Believer



Rusholme, Manchester

United Kingdom

12 March 2001
The girl they wanted him to marry was ugly.
Sarfraz Ahmed, an eighteen-year-old student, sat between his parents and his sister, trying to avoid showing any trace of his feelings on his face. It wasn’t that Noreen Ullah was actually bad, at least in the physical sense; it was that he didn’t find her attractive. She sat there, a tentative nervous smile on her brown face, and he knew that they would never get along.
His parents and her parents were taking away in Gujarati; he could follow about one word in five. She followed them, of course; she was a new immigrant from India. If he refused to marry her, she would have to return at the end of her school year; her visa didn’t last for much longerth. She sat there, her eyes decently lowered, and he felt sick. She would go along with what her parents wanted and she wouldn’t care what she wanted for herself.
“Well, are you coming?” His sister asked. Sameena, a girl who wanted to make a life for herself, much to their parents annoyance, smiled at him. “Come on brother, you have to talk to the girl.”
Sarfraz muttered under his breath. He’d never developed the habit of bossing his sister around; he would never have dared. One of her more ‘unsuitable’ friends had introduced her to self-defence, and of course she knew as much about him as he did about her. Mutually assured destruction was alive and well in their family, a mixture of secrecy and hypocrisy that kept them going.
“Come on,” Sameena said, pulling him towards the door. He made a show of resisting, just to keep things proper, and the parents nodded in approval. Sameena had to stay with them, just to guard their honour. Sarfraz snorted; he would sooner swear on the Qur’an to a lifetime of celibacy than spend time with Noreen.
Sameena closed the door behind them; Noreen waved them both to a sofa, every inch the hostess. Sarfraz winced; her mother had already begun to teach her what she needed to be a wife, even one in an extended family. Her demeanour was perfectly shy, the perfect opposite to Sameena, and she took her own seat, folding her legs decently under her skirt. The silence grew and lengthened.
“Well, big brother, say something,” Sameena hinting, elbowing him. The sudden furrowing on Noreen’s forehead was proof enough; she hardly spoke English. “Like; hello, how are you?”
Sarfraz would have blushed, if his skin colour would have allowed it. “Salaam,” he said. “How are you?”
Noreen looked puzzled. She spoke in soft, rapid-fire Gujarati. Sarfraz cursed mentally; he couldn’t understand any of it, even the words he should have understood in a different accent.
“I can’t marry her,” he muttered. Sameena looked understanding. “Noreen” – she looked up at the mention of her name – “do you want to marry me?”
It took a long moment for her to understand; clearly she spoke some English. He was puzzled; just how much English did she speak, after all? She shook her head softly, slowly, allowing her hair to slip out of her headscarf.
“She wasted my time,” he muttered angrily. Sameena looked reprovingly at him. “I don’t want to marry her.”
Without another word, he stood up and left the room, passing through the living room without pausing. The front door was open and he stepped through, nodding politely to her brother as he left. The darkness of the streets swallowed him up.
***

Sameena found him, half an hour later. He was seated in the mosque, staring at the walls. He’d been taught here, by a kindly old Iman who’d later died in a traffic accident. The mosque had always been comforting, far more comforting than one of the newer mosques, the ones built with Saudi oil money in a desperate attempt to buy the love of Allah.


“They’re pretty upset,” Sameena said, sitting down beside him. He smiled; if the mosque hadn’t been empty, someone would have made a fuss. A boy and a girl sitting together? Horror of horrors!
“How’s she taking it?” He asked. His parents could wait and hers could go to hell for all he cared. “What did she say?”
“Oh, we had a short talk,” Sameena said. “She was very shy, but she didn’t want you either.”
Sarfraz smiled wryly. “Anisa would have killed her anyway,” he said. “I wish that I could introduce her to my parents.”
“Try talking to mum,” Sameena advised. Anisa was his girlfriend; something that would have made her automatically suspect in his parents’ eyes. “She’s more understanding than you think.”
“I’m sure that she gave you the talk on things us men aren’t supposed to know about,” Sarfraz said dryly. “Dad, well dad…”
He shook his head, unwilling to recount the entire episode. Both men had found it a trial; his father’s attempt to explain the birds and the bees had been a minor disaster. It wasn’t something that could be passed onto the local Iman; they always made a mess of anything that didn’t involve prayers.
“I can’t marry someone who doesn’t want to marry me,” he said firmly. “So, what happened in the end?”
“Oh, mum was upset and her mum was upset, so they clung to each other and sobbed about how horrible men are,” Sameena said. “Naturally, I agreed with them, of course.”
Sarfraz snorted. “Of course,” he said.
“And the fathers had a talk and decided that naturally you were not suitable for her, and vice versa, and its off,” Sameena continued. “You’re a free man again, brother.”
“Up yours,” Sarfraz said. “They said they would give us loads of duas.”
“I dare say that we’ll survive without them,” Sameena said. Thousands of prayers had seemed like such a small price for Sarfraz being married to someone he hardly knew. It was an unpalatable truth of the Asian marriage market; boys and girls had their marriages arranged to pay off favours, in some cases for simple financial gain. “So, you coming for dinner?”
“I have been thinking about my future,” Sarfraz said seriously. “I don’t have a very promising future ahead of me, do I?”
“I won’t deny that it could be improved,” Sameena admitted. He scowled at her. “You really need to do something with yourself.”
Sarfraz nodded. “I’m thinking of joining the army,” he said. Sameena gaped at him. “They’re looking for young recruits.”
“You might die,” Sameena said. “Are you certain that this is a good idea?”
Sarfraz shook his head. “No, but how many other options do I have?” He asked. “I could go on the dole, except I still have my pride. I can’t really go to university with my qualifications, but the Army will take me.”
“Young and dumb,” Sameena said. “I don’t want to lose you, you know.”
“I’m rather attached to my life myself,” Sarfraz said. “Will you come with me?”
“You want me to join the army?” Sameena asked, astonished. “I don’t think they’ll want me, you know.”
“I meant will you come with me to the recruitment centre,” Sarfraz said. “I think that you can read all of the papers and make certain that I don’t sign away my soul as well.”
Sameena hesitated. “I trust that you will at least agree to informing our family,” she said finally. “Once you’re committed, at least.”
“Very well,” Sarfraz said. He stood up, dusting imaginary flecks of dust off his trousers. “Come on, sister; let’s go get something to eat.”
***

Two miles nearer to the centre of Manchester, late in the night, BBC reporter and investigator Charlene Jackson entered the office of the Head of Programming, Manchester Section. Edmund Robertson, Head of Programming, smiled up at her as she entered, admiring her as always. For her part, Charlene was wondering why she’d been summoned to his office so late. She hadn’t done anything really…disastrous lately, which meant that he wasn’t going to be angry with her, and she hadn’t had any new scoops recently, which meant that he wasn’t going to be pleased with her.


“Thank you for coming,” Robertson said, without preliminaries. His deep tenor voice sounded…off, as if he was deeply worried. “You’re my best reporter, presenter and researcher, all rolled into one.”
Charlene smiled at the flattery, her mind working as fast as it could. “Thank you, sir,” she said, and she meant it. Whatever else one could say about Robertson – and his detractors said a lot – he had never used his position to get her into bed, or to force young naive interns into compromising positions. He was a decent man in a world where decency was almost non-existent.
“I apologise for calling you here at this time,” he said. His face creased with worry. “I have been…requested to offer you an…extremely unusual position, a place on a classified governmental project, which will be declassified soon.”
Charlene blinked. “That’s odd?” She asked. “What is this project?”
Robertson scowled at her. He didn’t suffer fools gladly; in fact he didn’t suffer them at all. “I just told you that it was classified,” he snapped. “You will be taken to a government centre somewhere, I think it would be Hack Green, and there you will be briefed.” He paused. “Something odd is going on, Charlene; a lot of late night sittings at the House and a lot of people have been quietly informed that they will be called back to the colours, mainly army people.”
“Perhaps it’s a drill,” Charlene said. “Perhaps we’re about to go to war with Russia.”
Robertson made a face. “Perish the thought,” he said. “Now, I cannot force you to accept this position, but are you interested? Do you want the post?”
Charlene thought for a moment. “I won’t say no,” she said. “However, I would like to know more about it first.”
Robertson tapped the intercom. “Colonel Gore, you may come in now,” he said. Charlene lifted a single eyebrow as a well-dressed military man in civilian clothes entered the office. “Charlene, this is Colonel Gore, who will brief you.”
“I must warn you that disclosure of any information I give you will be regarded as a breach of a verbal agreement to keep it classified,” Colonel Gore said. Charlene smiled inwardly; he should have been called Colonel Bore. His voice was as dry as dust. “If you do not want to accept that obligation, you must clearly say so now.”
“I accept,” Charlene said crossly. “Now, what is this all about?”
“I can’t tell you everything,” Colonel Gore said dryly. Charlene realised with a shock that Robertson was out of the loop. “What I can tell you is simple; you will be working with a classified military-civilian team at an undisclosed location, and you will be sealed in for the duration of two months, perhaps less. While you will be permitted to write to friends and relatives, your letters will be read and censored if necessary.”
Charlene started to object. Colonel Gore held up his hand and continued. “You will be given full access to everything within the project, which will place you in the forefront of reporting when the lid comes off and the world sees everything. In addition, you will be granted interviews with the majority of the scientists involved, and you will be offered the chance to write the official history, later on.”
He seemed to find that very funny. Charlene didn’t know why. “In essence,” she said carefully, “you want me to work with your people on this…project, and report on it afterwards.”
“You will be involved in presenting it to the public,” Colonel Gore said. “It reflects considerable interest in your career at the highest levels. You have a high public-trust rating, certainly the highest for any media reporter. You have worked with military units before. You have some common sense, which is rarer than you might suppose.”
Robertson coughed. “Oh, you have no idea,” he said dryly.
Colonel Gore snorted. “I think I do,” he said, grinning. It was the first spark of character the man had shown. “If you are still interested, please say so now.”
Charlene nodded. “Very well,” she said. “What now?”
“You are unmarried and currently not involved with anyone,” Colonel Gore said. The way he said it convinced Charlene that he wasn’t guessing; he had researched her life thoroughly. “You will write a letter to your parents, your friends, and anyone else who might be concerned, explaining that you have been offered a post at short notice abroad. Once that is done, you will join me for a short car trip to the base.”
Charlene blinked. “I thought that the government could never do anything fast,” she said. “I thought that…”
“Tonight, yes,” Colonel Gore said. “We simply don’t have time for leisure.”
Robertson smiled. “Good luck,” he said. “I’ll reassure everyone here.”
“I’ll write to you as well,” Charlene assured him. “Colonel Bore – ah, Colonel Gore – I…”
Robertson laughed. It broke the spell. “Everyone makes that mistake,” Colonel Gore said. “I can’t think why.”
Charlene blushed. “I’ll just get my overnight bag packed,” she said. “How much will I need?”
“Enough for a week’s wear,” Colonel Gore said. “Everything else you could possibly need will be provided on the base.”
“Then let’s go,” Charlene said. “I can’t wait to find out what the hells going on.”
***

An Asian3 extended family could consist of hundreds of members, spread over an entire city. Everyone was related to everyone else, and everyone knew their place. To Sarfraz, it was at once both a source of strength and a major problem; every member of the family saw it as their duty to police the behaviour of everyone else. This applied even more to the men than the girls, contrary to popular impression.


When Sarfraz and Sameena arrived home, they were unsurprised to see several of their aunts and uncles gathered in the parlour, discussing the same old issue time and time again. Sarfraz felt a flicker of envy for the English; they didn’t have to face such interrogations.
“She didn’t want to marry me,” he said, hoping to get that on the table before anyone could start accusing him of anything. Several aunts began chatting away, commenting upon him, Noreen, and what a pity it was that his parents hadn’t raised him properly.
“Allah commanded us not to marry anyone against his or her will,” he said, demonstrating his piety. One thing that any Muslim learnt quickly was that belief was nothing, compared to the pressure to conform, no matter how un-Islamic it was4. “She did not want to marry me, and I will not marry her.”
“But she will have to return to the motherland,” an aunt said. Some people hid their smiles; Auntie Ji spent most of her time complaining about the English weather, an English habit she’d picked up upon within one week of her arrival, normally mixed in with demands that she return to India. “She will…”
“Doubtless find someone else,” Sarfraz said. He allowed himself a brief flicker of humour; his harsh comment had shut the entire room up. “I have a career in mind.”
There was a burst of comment, mainly about how ill brought up he was. The hypocrisy shocked him, seeing it clearly for the first time. All of them had their sins, but as long as they remained hidden, they acted as pure as the newly-fallen snow. Three different languages echoed around the room, a confusing cacophony designed by the aunts to confuse anyone else, anyone who didn’t know them.
He took a breath. “I have to build a career,” he said. “I’m going to join the army.”
The reaction was immediate. “I forbid it,” his uncle Ackbar snapped. Sarfraz’s father, who wasn’t fond of his brother in law, glared at him. “No man of my family is going to…”
“And who are you to forbid him anything?” Sarfraz’s father asked sharply. “I do the forbidding here.”
Sarfraz shook his head and left the room, knowing that the chatter would follow him up the stairs and into his room. He smiled suddenly as he passed Sameena, who was talking to her boyfriend, and winked at her, imaging the reaction of the cackling hens downstairs to that news. Girls had to remain pure for marriage – and Sameena was anything but.
“It went about as expected,” he muttered to her. He rather approved of Brad5 – his sister’s boyfriend – even though he did question his sanity. “Tell him to make a honest woman of you before its too late.”
“At least they haven’t disowned you,” Sameena said. “Brad says that you can stay with him if they do.”
“It’s only a matter of time,” Sarfraz said. “Tell him I said thank you.” He sighed. “I’m off to bed, sister; wake me up for morning prayers.”

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