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As dawn broke and a little light filtered into the room, Howie groaned and stretched. After realizing that their prisoner would be spending some time with them, Howie’s captors brought him a small cot to sleep on, a blanket, and a low table.

After two weeks the beatings stopped. Howie was glad as he didn’t know how much longer he could’ve survived the pain without breaking. He didn’t know if they finally believed him or if someone had ordered them to desist.

From their demeanor, he could tell that they had expected this to be a short captivity. The men had not been prepared to have him there for any length of time. The two men argued frequently with each other and with someone on the phone. Their anger seemed to grow each day he was their captive, and it made him very nervous.

The woman entered the room a short time later, bearing his breakfast tray. He noticed that there were two bowls and two cups of tea this time.

“I will be eating with you,” she informed him. “They said that I needed to get information out of you.”

Howie laughed. “What kind of information could I possibly give you? I’m a singer in a band, not a spy.”

“I do not know either,” she said. She handed him a bowl, it was filled with bits of various items – olives, goat cheese, small tomatoes, and grapes. She gave him some flat bread as well, and set the cup of tea before him. “I am sorry it is only food left over from the men’s meal…”

“This is wonderful, thank you,” he said softly. He glanced at her bowl, in it was more kubba.

“You are welcome.” She tore off a chunk of bread and used it to scoop out the stew, lifting the bottom edge of her veil in order to eat. He stared at her, wondering why she was eating that instead of what he was eating. She caught his glance. “You are eating my breakfast, the remnants of the men's meal. I will eat this…and they will think that you ate it.”

“Why would you do that for me?” he asked.

She hesitated for a long moment. “I am but a woman, only fit to eat the remains of the men’s meals anyway.”

Howie could hear bitterness in her voice, but did not press her for more. They ate in silence for a moment.

“You must've prepared alot of kubba,” he said, realizing that that was the only dish they had officially offered him since his arrival there.

“We eat it often as it is Sabir’s favorite. He tends a large herd of goats for a wealthy landowner. Goat meat is plentiful and cheaper than other meat.” She took a sip of the tea. “We eat it whenever he can borrow a goat.”

“You mean steal one,” Howie said softly, hoping the man was not listening at the door.

She looked directly at him for the first time, he thought she was smiling. “We do not steal. But Sabir often permanently borrows items,” she said, a hint of laughter in her voice.

“The mint tea is very good,” he said, she nodded without replying. “What kind of information do they think I have?” he finally asked as they neared the end of the meal. He didn’t want her to have to return to the men and possibly face their anger.

“I do not know,” she admitted. “I will tell them you refused to talk, that way maybe they will let me continue to talk with you.”

“I would like that,” he said, smiling at her. She ducked her head so that he couldn’t see her eyes.

Howie sat in the dimly lit room for the rest of the day, sweating, and wondered about the woman and who she was. From what little he understood about the Islamic culture, he was surprised that the men were letting her talk to him at all; they usually did not allow their women to talk to men who were not relatives.

Thinking about her kept him from thinking about his family. He wondered how his family was holding up, how his mother was doing – he knew she would be beside herself with worry.

When the woman returned that evening, she once again had two plates and cups. She sat down on the floor on the other side of the table.

“That smells delicious. What is it?” he asked. He noticed that both plates held the same food.

“Pilau – it is like a…what is the English word? Oh, a casserole, made with rice, beef, and potatoes.”

“No more kubba?” he asked.

“Somehow the dog got it – ate it all.” There was a mischievous lilt to her voice; he had to fight to keep from grinning. “They were unhappy, kicked the poor dog, but he will get over it – he is well fed for the time being.”

May I ask you something?” Howie asked.

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me your name?” He hoped he wasn’t being too forward with her; her visits were helping him keep his sanity.

She bowed her head, her voice quiet. “It’s Hira.”

“That’s a beautiful name. My name is Howie.”

**********************

Paula sat in church all alone, praying. God had not answered her prayers, her son Howard was still a prisoner in a foreign country.

Since that first visit from the special agent, they had spoken with many people in the State Department and in various departments overseas. No one had been willing or able to help them, for any amount of money.

They knew now that the group had been kidnapped in Spain and taken to Iraq, where they were being held. The terrorists had demanded money and the release of prisoners in US custody. Paula knew that the government would not negotiate on her son’s behalf.

After making many phone calls, she received a call from a high ranking official in the White House, demanding that she step back and let them do their job. He insisted that the effort the parents were making was hindering their efforts to garner a release.

Paula wasn’t happy about it, but their group did decide to stop their efforts for the time being – until they could see if the government was actually doing anything. They had been assured that the military was actively searching for the hostages. That didn’t reassure Paula, hadn’t they been looking for Osama Bin Laden for years and still hadn’t found him yet?

She walked slowly back out to her car, after having lit candles for the five missing men. Prayer was all she had at this point, and her faith in the Lord was keeping her strong.

************************

As the days passed, the pain in Howie’s body eased, the bruises healed. But the pain in his heart only grew, the despair over his condition threatened to take over. Only by sheer strength of will did he keep from losing his mind. He could imagine the heartache his parents were feeling, the anguish in their hearts. He wished there was some way he could contact them, assure them he was ok. He prayed like he had never prayed before, asking God to give his mother peace – and for the strength to continue living in the hell he was facing.

Howie still heard nothing about his release, and he dared not ask his captors. The men had backed off some, coming in every couple of days now to question him instead of every couple of hours. He couldn’t give them what they wanted; to lie would bring a certain death sentence. And telling the truth could bring the same results, he was afraid.

Hira brought his food to him still, lingering as long as she could. He thought maybe she enjoyed their conversations too; she was beginning to talk more now, although about nothing personal.

He yearned for his family, but with each passing day the ache was a little less intense. He wondered if the others were still alive, if they were feeling the same emotions, dealing with the same demons. The tensions of the early days of his captivity were turning into the tedium of endless hours of boredom.

For an hour or so each day, late in the afternoon, they let him come out into the living area of the house and watch TV. The dog would sidle up to him and lick his hand; Howie would pet the poor thing, it seemed starved for attention as well as food. Howie knew how it felt, he’d never felt so alone in his life.

Exercising made the day go by more quickly, Howie discovered. He would run in place and do sit-ups and push-ups until exhausted. He did whatever it took to keep his mind off his family. At least he was getting enough food to keep up his energy. He knew he had lost weight, his pants were loose on him now, he didn’t mind because he’d needed to lose a little. He was happy to see that all the exercise had the side benefit of toning his arms and stomach, his abs were starting to come back.

Bored beyond tears, Howie’s daily visits with Hira were the highlight of his day. He desperately wished for a long, hot shower too. He was allowed to use the restroom twice a day, but wasn’t allowed to shower. He rinsed off the best he could with cold tap water. Despite rinsing out his clothes as well, the stench of them was unbearable – he wondered how Hira could stand to be near him. He swore he could feel bugs constantly crawling on him; he wondered if he was losing his sanity.

Hira went to the men one morning, a month after his capture. “He needs some clean clothes and to bathe – I think he has lice. We’ll all have them if you don’t do something about it.”

Sabir ignored her request. “Is he eating?”

“Yes,” she said. Hira had been hiding from them the fact that she was giving him more food than they intended. He had been eating as well as they had, not the meager portions they had told her to feed him. They never checked anymore, giving her complete freedom when it came to caring for the prisoner. They felt it was beneath them to care for a prisoner of a holy war.

“Good, I knew he would give in once he got hungry enough. We cannot have him dying before he has served his purpose,” Sabir sneered.

“You are clever, my brother, to use food as a weapon of torture. He will be more willing to cooperate.” Rahmat sipped at the cup of coffee. “So, did he tell you anything useful?”

“No, he assures me he knows nothing that would be helpful to you. He said he is nothing but a singer.” She kept her head bowed, her voice low – her whole body showing submission.

“I think he lies,” Sabir said. “Why would he be traveling with so many bodyguards if he was not someone important?”

“Abu Hasal said we must keep him alive, for right now. They are trying still to arrange a deal with the Americans.”

“I wish they would hurry, I am getting tired of having the pig in my house,” Rahmat said.

“Abu Hasal is sure that these Americans are more than singers - he thinks they are spies...and he is determined to get the truth from them.”

“And I am sure that Abu Hasal knows everything,” Rahmat said sarcastically, he didn't like the leader of their little group but he had few allies and not the influence to oust the man from power. “But we will continue to work on the prisoner, I am sure he is not telling us everything he knows.”

“You are right, my brother. I think he knows more than he is telling us.” Sabir scratched his chin through his straggly beard. “We can either starve him or torture him…”

“Or we can use Hira against him – he seems to like her.”

“That is an idea. It is not like she is good for anything else,” Sabir leered. “Except to warm my bed.”

Rahmat laughed. “I do not know about you, my brother, but I value my penis. You know she is cursed, I would not stick mine in her for any amount of money.”

“Who is to say she is cursed? Even if she is as ugly as her father says she is, a woman is still a woman.”

“You can always tie a blindfold around your eyes,” Rahmat joked. “Shall we see what is behind the veil?” He started to reach for her but Sabir batted his arm away.

“Not just yet, it would ruin the pleasure I get at night…” He made a rude up and down gesture with his hand near his groin, his brother laughed.

Hira shuddered; bile rose up in her throat. She pretended not to hear their comments, to do so would give them more power over her; she didn’t want them to know that she was afraid of them. So far she had avoided their beds and she wanted to keep it that way.

“We will start our little campaign tomorrow morning,” Rahmat said with an evil smile.

Hira wondered what they had in mind so she could warn Howie, but they didn't discuss it any further. They dismissed her after she served them another cup of coffee. She knew they would sit up drinking for a while, and might even discuss their plans, but she would face dire consequences if they caught her eavesdropping on them. She went to bed, hoping for the best.

***********************

“Get up, you lazy dog,” Sabir growled, pulling the blanket off Howie and dumping him from the tiny cot onto the hard floor.

“Our little whore says you are crawling with vermin,” Rahmat added. “Come with us, and do not try anything stupid.”

Howie followed Sabir from the room; Rahmat brought up the rear, his rifle slung over his shoulder. They led him outside, the bright sunlight made him blink - it had been more than a month since he had seen the sun.

Hira stood nearby, her head bowed. Other villagers crowded around, elbowing each other for the best view. Howie wondered what was going to happen to him.

“Strip,” Sabir ordered.

“What?” Howie asked, not sure he understood.

“Remove all of your clothing,” the man ordered, the tone of his voice indicating he would brook no disobedience.

Glancing at the villagers, he saw their faces lit with anticipation. Howie didn't want to be naked in front of all of these people, but he really didn't have a choice. He slowly removed his shirt and pants - he had long since removed his shoes and socks, preferring to be barefoot rather than have to deal with the stench of weeks old socks. He turned his back to the crowd and removed his underwear.

“Go ahead, Hira, you know what to do.” Rahmat shoved Howie closer to the woman. There were several buckets of water and towels on the ground next to her. He suddenly realized what the men were up to - they were going to force her to wash him. In a society where women were kept isolated and had little contact with men, this kind of treatment was highly unusual and insulting.

For once Howie was glad of the veil over her face, he knew she must be terribly embarrassed. He wished he had one too right about now.

Hira picked up a rag and a small tub of an evil smelling liquid and proceeded to cover him from head to toe with the nasty concoction which burned his skin. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out. The villagers were shouting at her, he supposed they were making rude comments. He couldn't see her face, but from the jerky motion of her usually graceful limbs, he could tell she was upset.

“You missed his privates,” Rahmat shouted, pointing.

“He can clean that himself,” she said, for once defying them. The villagers shouted insults at her, condemning her as a whore, a soiled woman. She knew that she wasn't, but what were they to think since she was a woman alone living with two single men? They figured she was hiding a checkered past.

“You will wash every inch of him,” Sabir warned.

“No,” she said, defiance blazing in her eyes.

He slapped her as hard as he could, bringing tears to her eyes. Howie jumped at Sabir, wanting to protect her, but Rahmat grabbed his arm with a stern warning. Howie struggled to get free, but Rahmat was much larger than he and held him with an iron grip.

When Hira didn't bow her head before him, Sabir hit her again, knocking her to the ground. He kicked her several times when she didn't instantly rise. Howie shouted at him to stop; the villagers laughed at Hira, enjoying her humiliation.

She didn’t want to die, not like this, so she climbed to her feet. “I will kill you one day for what you have done to me,” she thought to herself. “And for what you are doing to an innocent man.”

“You know who is boss, whore,” Sabir growled.

Hira lowered her head in submission. “I will do as you demand,” she said, picking up the rag from the dirt where she had dropped it and rinsing it out in a bucket of tepid water. She scooped up more of the lice killing lotion, and then washed Howie's privates without a word. Howie did his best to think of everything except what she was doing, not wanting to react to her touch.

“Look at that, not even woman enough to rouse an American pig,” one man laughed.

“He is not much of a man,” one stoop shouldered old woman commented. “I have seen goats better hung than him.”

The crowd roared with laughter. Howie could only guess at their words, he could tell from their faces that they were making fun of him now too. He didn't know that he was causing himself and Hira even more shame by not getting an erection - he thought he was saving her. And she wouldn't risk the men's wrath by saying anything to him either.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered so only she could hear. She didn't look at him, only finished the job by washing his hair. She then dumped several buckets of water over his head to rinse him off. Hira then dried him with a rough towel.

“Back inside, dog,” Sabir ordered. “Go away, no more show today,” he growled at the villagers. It wasn't often they had something so entertaining to watch.

Once back in his room, Howie expected them to give him his clothing back but they didn't. He was thankful he had hidden his little stash of money; they hadn't searched him beyond a cursory weapons check when he was captured. It wasn't much, but it might come in handy.

Howie turned away when he heard a hand on the door knob. Hira came back into the room carrying a towel, a comb and a chair. She handed him the towel and he gratefully wrapped it around his waist.

“Sit,” she ordered, pointing to the low stool she had pulled up. He did as he was told, and she began to comb through his hair.

“What are you doing?” he asked, after she had worked for a few minutes.

“Getting rid of the lice in your hair. I must comb the eggs out before they hatch or you will get infested again. I could just shave it all off but I did not think you would want that – you have such nice hair.”

“Thanks.” Howie shuddered, he hadn't known he had lice - he just knew that he had itched badly the last week or so. He reached up and scratched his cheek, his beard had grown long.

“I will have to shave that,” she said. “They are in your beard too.”

Howie sent up a prayer to God, thanking Him for looking after him, and for sending Hira to take care of him. His impromptu shower wasn't the hot bath he had been fantasizing about, but at this point he didn't care as long as he was clean.

He glanced at the door, it was shut. “I'm sorry for what they did to you.”

“It is no more than I deserve.” She continued combing without even a pause.

“Why do you think you don’t deserve anything good in life?” he asked.

“Because I am a woman and a cursed one at that.”

He hesitated to ask her anything personal, she had been so reticent about it before, but all she could do is refuse to answer.

“Why do you think you’re cursed?” he finally asked.

“If I tell you, will you sit still?” she asked, he had been wriggling about on the chair.

“Yes, I'm sorry.”

Hira was quiet for a long moment, and then hesitantly started her story. “On the day that I was born, 28 years ago, my mother died from complications of my birth. She was young, only 27, and could have borne my father more sons, he was very angry. Not only did she die, but she died giving birth to a worthless girl.”

“Women are not valued in your society, are they?” he asked. Hira shook her head. “Do you have other siblings?”

“I have four full brothers, three half brothers and two half sisters.” She continued combing his hair with the tiny, fine toothed comb. “It is tradition to name your female children after something beautiful, but my father was so angry over the loss of my mother that he named me Hira, which means darkness.”

“I wondered if your name had any meaning. That was mean to do that to an innocent baby.”

“It is just a name,” she shrugged, but he could tell that it still hurt, deep within her soul. “When I was an infant, I was given to others to raise. My father sent for me when I was 12, he had promised me in marriage to the son of the local magistrate. The wedding was to take place when I was 14. My stepmother planned the wedding for two years - it had to be grand since my father is a man of high standing in the village. As my fiancé was coming to the wedding, a car crashed into the wedding procession and killed him and his father, leaving the family with no means of support.”

“How terrible,” Howie said. “I suppose your father blamed you for the tragedy?”

“Yes, of course. I was sent to a private school for girls in Baghdad so everyone would forget what happened. When I was 17, my father brought me home and informed me he had arranged a marriage with a merchant several towns away, he was 40 years my senior. The night before the wedding, he had a heart attack and died.”

“Oh no, Hira! What happened then?” He was thoroughly caught up in the story.

“My father tried to buy me a husband, but no one was interested, no one wanted to risk the curse I carried.” Howie could hear the pain in her voice. “He knew then that I would never be able to marry, so I became my stepmother's servant. She has five daughters-in-law to wait on her, but she hated me for what I had done to my family, so she made me pay for it every day of my life.”

“I'm so sorry.” He wanted to reach out to her, to touch her hand, but felt that she would find it an invasion of her privacy.

“Ah, but the story does not end there. Earlier this year, my father finds himself in trouble. He owes a large sum of money to the drug lord and cannot pay it. Father's opium crops had been ruined by the weather, the second year in a row, and his bank account was empty. The drug lord insisted on one of his daughters – my only unmarried sister is just 11. Thankfully the man did not want me as his wife, he knew of my curse and my ugliness. He sent me here, to the house of his two sons. I am their servant, their slave - I must do whatever they tell me to do.”

“Oh Hira,” he whispered, hearing the desperation in her voice.

“I will run away when I get the chance,” she whispered, glancing at the door. “I have a friend from school that lives in Farhan and she will take me in. No one will ever find me there, they don't know about her.”

“I wish I could help you,” he offered. “I would do anything to get you out of here; you’ve been very kind to me.”

“I know what it is like to be a prisoner,” she said. Hira worked in silence for a while. “Do you have a woman waiting for you back home?” she asked timidly.

“Not really. There are several women that I date but nothing serious.”

“Women there are free to do as they please?” she asked.

“Yes. They make their own decisions about life, love, work, and children.”

Hira sighed. “So many choices for a woman. How do they cope with making so many decisions?”

Howie laughed loudly, and then clapped a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound. He glanced at the door to make sure one of the men hadn't come inside.

“Some have more problems than others deciding what they want,” he said, sarcasm coloring his voice, as memories of failed relationships flooded his brain.

Hira questioned him at length about American women, in awe over the freedom they enjoyed. Thinking of American women and their lack of clothing, Howie wondered about her mode of dress. “Have you always worn that?” Howie asked, indicating the voluminous black tent she wore.

“No, they make me wear the burkha, this horrible thing.” Howie could feel her body shudder behind him. “I did not have to wear it at home. I hate it, and I hate them for making me wear it.”

“At home, did you wear a veil?”

“It is called a hijab and yes, I wore it all of the time. Only my stepmother and stepsisters have seen my face.”

“Not even your father?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Not since puberty when I first put on the hijab. Islam says our male relatives may, but I did not want to insult them with my ugliness.” She was quiet for a moment. “I do not know if I will ever have the chance to marry, but the only man who will ever see my face will be the man that I love.”

After she finished combing his hair, she put down the comb and looked to make sure the door was still closed.

“Does your skin still hurt?” she asked softly.

He nodded. “I…I didn’t want to complain,” he said quietly.

“I have some lotion that will help.” She reached into a pocket and pulled out a container and poured a small amount into her hand. “I will put some on your back…since you cannot reach it,” she added.

Her fingers were soft as she gently rubbed the lotion into his raw skin. “That feels wonderful,” he whispered, not sure whether he meant the lotion or her fingers.

“Good.” Touching him was churning up all kinds of emotions in Hira; she’d never been so bold as to touch a man like this before.

Her touch was causing much more havoc in Howie, resulting in a stirring in his loins. He tried to adjust the towel to hide it. Her fingers smoothed lotion down his arms; he could feel that she was trembling.

Hira jumped back when the door suddenly opened. She carefully hid the container in the folds of her burkha and backed away from the prisoner.

Sabir stood in the doorway, a lethal looking straight razor in his hand. Howie’s stone-like erection turned to jell-o in an instant.

“You can shave him now, whore,” he said to Hira, his voice a growl. He turned his steely gaze to Howie. “But do not try anything foolish,” he said.

Howie had never been shaved with a straight razor before, it made him rather nervous. But he trusted Hira and she did a wonderful job, not even nicking him once. It felt great to be clean shaven again. He hoped that all the itching would now be a thing of the past.

Hira left the room, leaving him alone with Sabir. He wanted to say something to him about the way they treated her, but he thought it just might make things worse so he held his tongue.

“Give me the towel and the blanket,” Sabir demanded as he turned to leave. Howie reluctantly gave them to him.

“Are you going to give me my clothes back?” he asked.

“Do you want to be infested with lice again?” Howie shuddered and shook his head. “Then the answer is no.” With that he left, shutting the door and sliding the bolt home.

Howie slumped on the bed, glad to be clean again, but dismayed over the fact that they had not given him any clothing back. Hira was not likely to visit him while he was naked, and his chances for escape were even dimmer now.

He knew that this was some kind of psychological game they were playing with him, and he vowed not to give in to it. They were trying to deprive him of anything from his former life, anything he could hold on to which would give him hope for the future.

But two could play this game, he decided. He knew that they wanted him alive, needed him alive, in order to make their demands of his government. But how far was he willing to take it?

When Hira came in later that afternoon with his dinner, she found him huddled in the corner with his back to her. She laid the container of lotion on his bed, and then turned to him.

“Are you ok?” she asked, suddenly terrified that he was ill.

“Yes, I’m fine...but don't bother leaving the food.”

“And why not?” she asked.

“Because I’m not going to eat until I have some clean clothing and a blanket once again.”

“But...”

“I mean it, Hira. I will not let them abuse me this way...and abuse you as well. I know it is...distressing...for you to have to see a naked man.”

Hira thought it wasn't quite as distressing as he thought it was, but she would not admit that to him. She rather liked his body, it was tan and firm and not nearly as hairy as that of her brothers, who resembled bears more than humans.

“I will tell them but they will not be happy.” She turned and left the room, shutting and bolting the door behind her.