Mission Incomplete

Yusuuf sipped at his black coffee, swishing the bitter liquid in his mouth and swallowing it. His wife sat beside him, delicately sipping her coffee, laden with sugar and cream. She was as delicate as her drink, he thought. She should be spared the hardship of sand and heat and fear of being a white woman in a brown land. She should be Allah's willing white vassal in this soft white underbelly of America. He cleared his throat.

"I've thought about this for a fair bit now," he said, choosing his words carefully. "You regret nothing, I assume. Not leaving your boy. Not embracing Allah. Not surrendering to me and bearing my children."

"Of course not," Elizabeth said, her big blue eyes wide with uncertainty. "It is a blessing."

"I want you to continue to spread it. We've conquered the wives in this neighborhood. But in a generation, people will have forgotten about what we've done. So I expect you to be a symbol, to these other western harlots. A symbol of what they should value. A symbol of what they should worship. Five miles that way," he said, pointing east. "Is a campus full of harlots. And I have boatloads of Africans we could bring in. And in a generation, people will revere us for what we did."

Elizabeth swallowed hard, nodding. His words were her law.