Taximan

Muhammad Hawazi had already made more money in the last two months than he had in the previous two years. Each day he would take his old Ford with "Taxi" crudely painted on its doors to either the airport, or the Hotel Skandar. Green foreign journalists arrived at the airport needing a local guide, and transportation. He charged $10 for the mile and a half ride into town that normally would cost only the equivalent of fifty cents American. His brother-in-law ran the Hotel, and paid Muhammad five American dollars for each guest he delivered. Business was good. Even better was when a journalist would hire him by the day to take them into the country. Some journalists would pay two hundred dollars a day for Muhammad to take them up to the border. Business was very, very good.

Of course, there were problems. The taxi was becoming less reliable and more expensive to operate. That was to be expected in a machine manufactured in 1978; not even the Americans could make an indestructible automobile. Muhammad had begun dreaming of buying another car to use as a taxi. Perhaps he would buy a 1988 model for himself, and then he could put his worthless son to work driving the old Ford. If the boy wasn't put to work soon he might run off and join the Taliban. Besides, with two taxis the family income might finally satisfy his wife. It seemed that the more money he made, the more she wanted. Already he had bought her a new radio, and had gotten her a French machine that made hot water flow from the tap. Only God knew what she would want next. His oldest daughter was of even greater concern. She was a fan of Western music, and just a week earlier he had found that she had a small hidden cache of American fashion magazines. If the Religious Police were to find out, he might have a difficult time ahead.

Today he had three journalists in the backseat. They were wearing expensive new cloths and unscuffed boots from some expensive American outfitter. They passed a flask around that must have contained an alcoholic drink, and it was obvious that they had been drinking on the airplane. A fat journalist was falling asleep, his soft face relaxing into a gentle snore. The youngest, wasn't much older than his eldest son, leaned forward and asked Muhammad's opinion about the attacks of September 11th. Muhammad welcomed the opportunity to show off his English prowess.

"Change. Everything changes. The developed Western world has grown used to rapid and revolutionary change. Western civilization has become secular and under the spell of a hedonistic emphasis on the individual. Its technology has shrunk the world to the size of a small village, and eliminated isolation. This is what happens when individuals are left free to choose their own path. Women are no longer subject to their husbands, and husbands cease being responsible for their families. Children grow up to be selfish and self-indulgent. Religion is sneered at, and immorality is the norm. Faster and faster the world is changing, racing toward unadulterated evil. The wealthy trod upon the poor, and the powerful prey upon the weak. Everyone knows this." Muhammad paused and looked into his rear-view mirror to see if he had offended potentially valuable customers. The young journalist had turned on a little tape-recorder, but seemed not to be offended.

Mohammad resumed, "Good Muslims condemn terrorism and the killing of innocents. The attacks of September 11th were the actions of misguided men. Allah must not have truly blessed the attack, for the American aircraft and their Afghan puppets are crushing the Taliban almost with impunity. I think that Allah withheld his blessing because the Taliban and Bin Ladin were too proud and self-righteous. They saw how the triumph of the Western world would destroy Islam, and they acted. Their acts were perhaps unwise, but they were still defenders of the faith against the evils of democracy.

A military dictator, whose interests are not those of the People, leads our country. The dictator is maintained in power by a Western style army. He wants to introduce Western values and ways of doing things that will destroy our traditional culture and religion. He has allied himself with the Americans, and permitted them to attack our brothers from bases on our sacred soil. The Americans will use their great powers to undermine our way of life, and our values. Perhaps many of our people will exchange their traditional values for women's rights, education, and modernity, but some will remain true to the strict adherence to the Koran. The followers of Allah will not forget, nor forgive. Things will change. The cursed Indians and their American masters shall not continue to oppress Muslims in Kashmir. We too have modern weapons and Allah will surely crown believers with victory. They may start this war, but they shall later regret it."

Muhammad could see that the journalist was growing impatient, and didn't want to hear anti-American sentiments. "It's true that I don't have much education, but I read the Koran and pray everyday. I am not wealthy, but I give alms to those poorer than myself. My wife is modest, and the children respect their elders and the values of their religion. Allah has given me an old Ford automobile with which to earn a living. My cousin died a martyr somewhere in Afghanistan. Allah helped us defeat the godless Russians, the proud British, and even the great Alexander. He will help us to win the war between Good and Evil. In the end the evil of Western Civilization will lie in Ruins, and Islam will dictate behavior that is pleasing to Allah."

Muhammad could see in the rear-view mirror that the journalist wasn't listening, so he stopped talking. Ahead there was some sort of accident and there were several automobiles stopped in the middle of the road. As Muhammad slowed his taxi to a stop, the journalist complained "God-damn it! Can't you people even get from the airport into town?" Muhammad frowned, and got out of the taxi to see what was the matter. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of fire, and in the nest instant was thrown to the ground by a mighty blast. The RPG threw his taxi into the air, instantly killing the journalists. The second car in the group also exploded as the first car sped away. There came the distinctive sound of AK47 fire, and more people fell torn by bullets. A lazy column of smoke began to rise in the thin air.

Muhammad knew he was badly hurt. He couldn't see, nor could he feel anything in his body. Muhammad's hand groped at his stomach, and though his burnt fingers tried to stuff his intestines back into his body, he felt nothing. A great darkness began to fall, and Muhammad believed he was falling asleep. He whispered, "Allah's Will be done."