Internment(39)

“Jake?”

“The guard who helped me make the call to David.”

“You’re on a first-name basis with that guard? He can hurt us, for no reason. He has a gun to shoot us. Do you even know what you’re doing right now?”

Shit. “I don’t think it’s like that with him.” I explain what Jake said to me, but Ayesha isn’t convinced.

“Anyone can say ‘insha’Allah.’ It doesn’t make them Muslim, or even if they are, it doesn’t mean they’re on our side. He could be saying that to win your trust.”

I get what Ayesha’s saying. I spent half the night lying awake wondering about it. Some Muslims I know, like this one uncle, says it all the time, like it means “hopefully.” One of the girls at the masjid complained that her mom basically used it as a nice way of saying no—“Mom, can I go to the movies tomorrow?” “Insha’Allah, beta.” I know non-Muslims who say insha’Allah, God willing. But Jake’s saying it doesn’t feel flippant or like a trick. “I know how it seems. How it is. But I think he wants to help us. He used the word as a sign, or a—”

“A shibboleth. He used it as a shibboleth,” she says.

I shrug.

“It’s a word you can use to distinguish who’s on your side and who isn’t. I can’t remember all the details, but it comes from a story in the Hebrew Bible. One group was able to detect their enemies by their inability to pronounce the word ‘shibboleth’ with the sh sound.”

“So the word ‘shibboleth’ is a shibboleth.”

“Yup, basically.”

I look into Ayesha’s eyes. “I know you’re scared. But in my gut I know that Jake’s not the enemy.” I hope my gut isn’t wrong, because it’s not just my life I’m risking; it’s her life, too.

Ayesha shakes her head. “I don’t know, Layla. It’s a leap, and a dangerous one.”

“I won’t take any unnecessary risks,” I promise, but even as I say the words, I know they are a lie.

Ayesha gives me a small nod in response, which I take as agreement.

“Have you read any Nietzsche?” I ask.

Ayesha furrows her eyebrows at me and shakes her head. “That’s not how I usually spend summer vacation.”

“He said something like, all I need is a sheet of paper and something to write with and I can turn the world upside down.”

“So you’re planning on busting us all out of here with your cruel, cutting words? What is brewing in your brain?”

“Have you ever heard of the White Rose?”

She doesn’t answer me. She’s looking at Soheil as he approaches the garden. A smile spreads across her face.

“Hey,” he says as he draws closer.

“Hey,” Ayesha replies.

“Hey,” he says again.

Then there’s silence. Ayesha looks at her shoes and kicks at the dirt a bit. Soheil stuffs his hands into his jeans pockets and shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“Um, was I also supposed to say ‘hey’? Is that the reason for the awkward silence?” I ask.

Ayesha turns to me and widens her eyes in a way that shows she’s embarrassed, and also telling me to shut up. I ignore her and move to another rock so Soheil can take a seat on the boulder next to her.

“What were you saying about the White Rose?” Ayesha asks me.

“The White Rose?” Soheil jumps in. “The brother and sister from World War Two who wrote all those pamphlets urging other German college students to resist the Nazis?”

“Yeah,” I respond. “I don’t remember every detail of their story, but I know they used their words to try to resist the Nazis.”

“I’m familiar with their story,” Soheil responds. “And it doesn’t have a happy ending. They were a group of students, and two of the leaders were Hans and Sophie Scholl. They handed out leaflets denouncing Hitler, totally risking their lives. They even advocated sabotaging the war efforts.”

“They sound pretty badass,” Ayesha says.

Soheil continues. “Totally brave. But then a janitor at their university turned them in, and they were both executed. Some of the others were, too. By guillotine.”

Ayesha raises a hand to her mouth. “That’s horrible,” she whispers.

“Why were you talking about them anyway?” Soheil asks. “Are you two figuring you’re going to agitate? Resist?”

As Soheil talks, I feel bile rising in my throat, but I also begin to remember more of the White Rose story from history class. They were killed because they refused to lie down and do nothing. They didn’t stay silent. “During the trial I think Sophie said, ‘Somebody, after all, had to make a start.’ Didn’t she? I think I remember seeing that in my textbook. And she was right. Somebody has to make a start. And it might as well be us.”

Ayesha gulps. “But do you want to do leaflets in here?”

“No. I want to write stories that will rile people up on the outside. And I’m going to ask David to get them out there. I know he’s afraid. But at some point we have to stop talking and start reminding people of who we are. Americans. Human beings.”

“So say we all.” Ayesha puts her hand on my forearm. “But I’d like to avoid the capture-and-guillotine part.”