The Children of the Rainbow , livre ebook

Xlibris AU - Rasool Darweesh

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69 pages

English

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The Children of the Rainbow falls under the genre of ‘gay’ or ‘queer’ fiction. It relates the dilemma of the gay community in Iraq after the invasion and consequently, the occupation of Iraq by the American forces and the rise of Islamic Militia Movements.
It begins with the arrest of Sarmad, one of the Rainbow members by the Islamic militants; he is tortured and eventually, forced to confess about the Rainbow community hideouts and members in Baghdad. As the story proceeds, the readers are also introduced to Mayyar, the protagonist who is fully aware of the threats facing the Rainbow community members and decides to migrate to Thailand.
With the assistance and cooperation by the UN High Commissioner for Refugees, Mayyar succeeds to leave Iraq and takes up residence in Thailand. There, he meets a Thai transgender by the name of Brisana where they establish both an intimate as well as business relationship.
As their relationship flourishes, they decide to embark on another business venture and this time in the Philippines. There, they are introduced to a Filipina by the name of Catherine, the daughter of a rich Filipino Congress man. She is later, murdered by a terrorist gang and Mayyar is accused of her killing.
The story ends with the news of the arrest of the chief murderer of Catherine and eventually, Mayyar is pardoned of any crime.

Sujets

Queer

LGBTQ

Messengers of Islam

Rainbow

Fiction

Islam

Informations

Publié par	Xlibris AU
Date de parution	18 janvier 2023
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781669833703
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0000€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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THE CHILDREN OF THE RAINBOW

Rasool Darweesh

Copyright © 2022 by Rasool Darweesh.
Library of Congress Control Number:
2022923506
ISBN:
Hardcover
978-1-6698-3372-7

Softcover
978-1-6698-3371-0

eBook
978-1-6698-3370-3

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 12/16/2022

Xlibris
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848381

Rasool Darweesh
To Kazim, Brisana, and Qader
To Kevin, Catherine, and ot hers.
To all those who did not fall into the crypt of sin.

Signal . . .
The writer starts his novel but never finishe s it.
The characters finish the novel themse lves.
CONTENTS
PART 1 : BAGHDAD
(1) Sarmad
(2) Mayyar
(3) Sarmad
(4) Mayyar
(5) Sarmad
(6) Mayyar
(7) Sarmad
(8) Mayyar
PART 2 : BANGKOK
(1) Mayyar
(2) Brisana
(3) Mayyar
(4) Brisana
(5) Mayyar
PART 3 : MANILA
(1) Brisana
(2) Mayyar
(3) Brisana
(4) Catherine
(5) Mayyar
(6) Catherine
(7) Brisana
(8) Mayyar
PART 1
Baghdad
(1)
Sarmad

I presented my civil card to one of the guards on duty; he found it valid after checking it properly. Then he handed the card over to his colleague as a routine procedure. Meanwhile, dozens of American soldiers stood around the southern gate of the Green Zone, the new heart of Baghdad.
A few metres away from that gate, military and heavy armoured vehicles lined up as they directed their fire missiles towards the street which led to the main gate. One of them asked me, in a mixed language between Arabic and English, my name.
I said, ‘Sarmad.’
Then he asked me why I was in the Green Zone. I hesitated a little, trying to find an English expression to let him understand the mission I was on, but another soldier intervened to assist me because he knew what my role was there.
He said, ‘She is Garay’s girlfriend. Bill Garay, the officer on duty in the military supply unit.’
After many routine questions, I was finally allowed to cross the street. Praising God, I followed the right sidewalk of the main street until I disappeared from their watching eyes; however, I was certain that I was still in the target area at their mercy.
After half an hour of cautious walking, I turned right, and then I had a feeling that someone was trailing me. I looked back and inspected the place but couldn’t spot anyone. I said to myself perhaps that could be an anxiety-fuelled illusion as a result of the security unrest that accompanied the Americans’ control of Baghdad. I continued walking and heard the squeaking of shoes and the sound of steps as well as the muffled voices of people whom I did not see. Was it possible that the djinns had come to the border of the Green Zone together with the Americans?
I hurried up the road leading to Republic Street; still, I was hearing them but could not see anyone. Perhaps they were the ghosts of Baghdad who had come to track its destruction and killings. I didn’t know exactly where to go. I wished at that moment I were an animal guided by instinct, for my mind at that time would have to choose and inevitably would mislead me.
I followed the road leading to the Nunu Crypt; I might have escaped the ghosts. I turned onto the third road, and finally, I reached the catacomb area. From there, the military barricades blocked the roads, the neighbourhoods, and some buildings. I realised the difficulty of entering an area besieged by armed militias that used buildings and sand barricades as their fortress. Then I had two inseparable concerns: escaping from the ghosts chasing me and getting away from the eyes of these militias.
I decided to go to the Violet Corner Club. Maybe one of the nightclub guards would know me and open the doors of the club, sheltering me, though it was in the morning. I arrived half an hour later, moving with my back towards the walls to take cover whenever possible. I was ready to flee if the need arose, but the ghosts had no shapes to be seen to escape from. When I reached the Violet Corner Club, I wished I hadn’t gone there; it was totally destroyed. The entrance of the club had turned into rubble. It must have been heavy shells that had transformed its entrance and front walls into wreckage. Dust was still flying in the air.
I was left with nothing but Zawraa Park as a shelter to protect myself; there was nowhere else to go. I tried to hire a taxi or find a friend to take me to the Zafaraniyah area. The squeaks of the steps that haunted me were approaching. The sound escalated, and the hissing turned into a whisper, and some vague words emerged, but I didn’t see anyone behind me. Were they ghosts or detectives?
Doubt began to strike me. Ghosts could not lurk around and chase me as I was in the daylight in Baghdad. They were likely the intelligence men whose eyes never slept. Though Saddam had fallen, his secret eyes had not disappeared. The intelligence men’s mission had shifted from serving the individuals to serving blocs, groups, sects, and tribes. Later, they were dispersed into small states, states fighting one another for control and domination.
The dense trees lined up on both sides of the street leading to the gate of Zawraa Park. I felt someone was chasing me, so I hid behind the trees so that the ghosts could cross in front of me, entering the garden. I was about to mislead them when suddenly, I felt the palm of a wide hand stretching out and clutching my mouth, and before I could move my hand, another hand grabbed me.
Finally, I saw the ghosts; they were three masked informants whose eyes only were visible. In a quick movement that they had already practiced, they put the veil over my eyes and the mask over my mouth and tied me from behind with a sharp plastic rope; I also felt the muzzle of a gun at the centre of my back. Then finally, one of them spoke.
‘Listen, bastard. We will shoot you if you make any movement, fire a bullet of mercy at your head. Understand?’
Another one said, ‘Buy your life with your silence, bastard.’
They held me tightly, leading me like a sheep to an unknown place where the voices around me were louder. I began to understand what they were saying; their words were no longer whispers but shouts. They were kicking and hitting me. I pleaded with them, begging them, screaming and crying. Their punches increased gradually. They focused on my face, knocking out one of my teeth. I spat it out, along with blood and thick saliva.
Someone said to me, ‘We want you, bastard, to tell us about the rest of your dirty group. We want to clean Baghdad of people like you.’
There was no chance to evade or pretend by acting. The intensity of the pain turned me into a book of confession. All the places I had gone to were ruined, so my confession did not matter then. I told them about the Nunu Crypt and the Violet Corner; although I had just visited both places, one was surrounded by armed militias, and the other’s entrance had turned into an enormous mountain of rubble.
One of them asked, ‘Are you happy with your situation?’
I said, ‘What I learned is that no one is responsible for your happiness except yourself.’
Then their boss, Abu Al-Fait, said, ‘Listen, bastard. You stay with us for a few days here. If we like your confessions, we will release you, and if not, we will kill you, ha. Deal?’
I gave my consent without words, followed by a series of forced confessions.
(2)
Mayyar

It was not the first time that Sarmad had moved away or disappeared, but it was the first time news about him had been completely cut off. There was no longer a Violet Corner or the Nunu Crypt, where he could hide so I could find him and check on him. I searched for him for a long time, looking for where he might be living, but nothing could be achieved.
I thought of his friends and finally found one of them, the one who shared with him the same job and whose name was Hamada. I called him, asking him about Sarmad’s situation. He said he had seen him last in the Green Zone with Garay, the U.S. officer. I asked him to give me any more information he might receive about Sarmad, whether it was good or sad, but nothing like that had ever happened. Even Garay himself didn’t know where Sarmad had gone. I then had to ask Basil, the man I had hated since Sarmad got to know him. He confirmed that he had waited for him in Zawraa Park on an agreed date between both, but Sarmad didn’t turn up.
He sa