Jamila 1

Part One - Lily the Original

The day after I finish high school I appear before the Council of Elders in our Hutterite Colony. Naturally I assume it's just to place me in whatever job. As I enter, see the grim faces, I sense otherwise.
My father, the headman, solemnly intones, "Lily Kleinsasser, hear the judgment of the Council. You are banished, now, today, permanently."
I've never been a troublemaker, why is this?
He continues sheepishly, "you see, I have the overall well-being of the Colony to consider, not one person. Everyone must fit in, no room for a single. Fitting in is children and farm labor. No takers for you. At 4'11", 88 pounds, it'd be a very high risk pregnancy. I've canvassed other Colonies in Alberta and Saskatchewan, ones we're on good terms with. No takers for you as a wife."
"So what is to become of me?"
Father defers to the elder who handles accounting, "we've bought a bus ticket to Edmonton. Lots of jobs there. Reserved a room at YWCA, paid 3 months in advance. Give you money for food, bus and such. Edmonton is booming, should have a temp job in a couple days. Permanent, fairly quick."

Like much in life, it was a paradox. I fit with ridiculous ease. Within a month, I was in the Revenue Canada mailroom, soon made CR4 in Error Corrections. Yet, I never fit at all. Socially, as if I came from Uganda or New Guinea.
Why? Lot of reasons. Yes I ditched the centuries-old Hutterite clothing, but still dress modestly. Just could not bring myself to wear pants or skirt to work, so it's always long dresses.
Also booze, just will not touch a drop, narrows your social horizon.
Also, no TV or even radio on our Colony, only one phone for business. So I lack the cultural background of the other white Canadians.
Add in using German far more than English and I still sound like a foreigner.
And at work, there's different cliques. Grandmothers. Busy young mothers. Multi-conquest Cosmo-reading gals. No one left for me to be friends.
Off the job, Revenue Canada ain't the best conversation ploy anywhere, especially in hate-the-evil-Federal-regime Alberta.
Years go by, all profitable. When you are an outcast, you save, partly insecurity, partly just no social life to spend it on.
A typical work week is Monday to Friday, off at 3:30. I live in an apartment some 20 minutes walk away, so I always do.
Like women much larger than me, I have a perception of excess crime out there, simply would not go out evenings. My eyes are tired from a dummy terminal, so TV or reading is out worknights. Evenings are for housekeeping, laundry and the like.
Sunday is a proper day of rest, it being quasi-sinful to go anywhere spending money, though I can go for a walk. So Saturday is my only day of adventure.
My adventure of choice is the university library, opens 11:00. It's a 30 minute walk, I treat myself to an espresso before and a lunch during.
In the library, I'll read German newsmagazines, Stern or Der Spiegel, to keep the skill. If they haven't arrived, I have a list of call number of interesting books.

So one Saturday I'm in a coffee house near campus. As I sip espresso, I stare out the window, daydream. My daydream ends abruptly as someone grabs my jacket collar. It's a massive 5'8", 170 pound Arabic-looking woman.
Seriously she intones, "you've ignored me long enough. Answer my question."
"You could start by removing your hand."
She does.
"Now what was your question?"
"There you go again. Gotta be the Queen of Arrogance. Didn't even hear?"
"I didn't know you were talking to me."
"Well la-de-da, Queen of Aryans, Empress of Jewkill, B**** of Belsen. Why were you giving me those dirty hate stares? Gotta thing bout non-Aryans?"
"In case you didn't notice, I was looking out the window, not at you. As for my expression, I have no idea what that might be, truth is I was daydreaming."
At this point, another woman lays a hand on her shoulder, "chill you moron, she's telling the truth. Want trouble with the manager?"
She blushes, "hey sorry bout that. Can I get you another espresso?"
"No, I'm going."
The other one laughs cheerfully, "this here idiot gonna get herself killed one day. People know karate or pack knives. Let her buy you an espresso, teach her a lesson."
"We-ell ok."
"Now me, I'm Sonali. This cavewoman is Parvana. These here are Arezou and Fereshta. And you are?"
"Lily."
"Old-fashioned, no one has named girls that for 50 years."
"I come from an old-fashioned background."
"As in strong fundamentalist?"
"Yeah."
She grins, "yeah I hear you. Anywhere in the world, that's a problem."
Parvana comes back from the counter, espresso in hand. "You're kinda cute, I could really go for you."
Sonali groans, "open your eyes, she's all of 14, wanna do jailtime?"
Parvana grins, "nother few years then. So which school you go to?"
"I don't."
"Dropped out?"
"No, graduated high."
Parvana whips out a fiver, "this says you're a liar."
I reach into my bag, take out my Revenue Canada ID, show it. The women stare in morbid fascination.
Sonali looks, "you're actually a member? Canada'a answer to the Gestapo or KGB?"
"Fourteen years," with that I take Parvana's five.
"Not so fast," Parvana asserts, "still want proof of age."
I draw out my driver's licence.
She smiles, "how bout that? Same age as me, legal."
Sonali elbows Parvana, "forget it, she grew up fundamentalist."
Parvana grins wickedly, "best kind, once they get warmed up. So kid, lemme guess what might turn you on. I'm totally naked, on hands and knees. You make my kiss the paddle first, then give me 24 blistering hot strokes. Then I hafta kiss the paddle again."
I realize I should leave now, right now, before the roof caves in. But I can't bring myself to move.
Parvana grins, "oh ho, tongue between your teeth. You'd love it."
Blushing, yeah, you ain't whistling Dixie.
She feels my arm muscles, "not bad for your size. How bout right now? Girls would love to watch."
They're all drooling.
Now me, I've never had any experience, man or woman.
"And after," she continues smoothly, "anything you like in bed, I'd be so grateful."
My voice quavers, "drink up, let's go."
Parvana grins, "just the type I like, take-charge. Mind if these idiots watch?"
"Bring it on, they want spanks too, so why not?"
Three of them share a three-bedroom near campus. We get right down to business, me blistering 4 behinds. The rest, group orgy. Parvana takes me into her room and (censored by the blog).
As we lie together after, sharing the warmth, she smiles, "stay all weekend?"
"Sure."
As I leave Sunday evening, we exchange phone numbers. When I get home, I'm suspicious, looks more like a westend number than a campus area one.
Sure enough, turns out to be a westend pizza joint.
Even if she lost my number, she has my full name, could get in touch through the Revenue switchboard.
After a week of no call, I realize the truth. She's just into multi-conquest. The other girls, bored to death, needed the energy to party. I was had.
So my bit of thrill comes at a very steep price. I'm too ashamed to go back to campus.

Three separate but related pressures come to bear.
First, the university library was the only place I felt safe. Public library had too many rubby-dubbs hanging about.
Second, the multi-conquest clique in Revenue is now laughing at me openly. How would they know? Probably one knows one of those Afghans at the uni?
Third, if you've lived a blameless life thus far, your first sin is a gargantuan event. So, a second one doesn't become so unthinkable. Now if I hang around another 40 years or so, who knows, maybe a dozen or two or even more sins. So, why not just make it two? End it now. I mean, isn't it sensible to only have to pay for 2 sins? Why not?
One Friday evening, I swallow a bottle of aspirin. I feel nice, even knowing I'm soon to be in trouble.