The Cute Terrorist. Adult. They come in every shape, size, and sex. (standard:drama, 2031 words)
Author: Oscar A Rat	Added: Jul 06 2020	Views/Reads: 1412/992	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
I met her in Germany. I was stationed with the US army back in 1964. We often hung out and drank together. Then, thirty years later, she shows up on my porch in NYC.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

waiting for me.  The coffee was very strong, causing me to cry out, 
“Damn, what's this crap made of, horse shit?” 

Realizing my mistake, actually speaking English, I looked over to see a
surprised look on her face. 

“You American,”  she stated, in shock at realizing her own mistake. “I
hate American.” 

Suddenly, with no warning, I had a wildcat at my throat, actually trying
to bite it, as her claws fumbled for my eyes. 

“Sorry. I'm sorry. Please don't hurt me,”  I implored, any incipient
macho response  forgotten -- intent on holding her off with bleeding 
arms. 

Finally, she tired and folded.  There must have been some humor in the
occasion, since she surprised me by laughing, gently slapping my face.  
Later, I found Anide to have an odd crazy sense of humor.  She let me 
go and laughed even harder, falling face-down to the table and pounding 
it with her fists, slopping battery acid across its surface. 

Looking up with tears in her eyes, she pulled my head down to hers.  I
had been leaning close, trying to figure what was going on and smelling 
the scent of jasmine coming from her hair.  She locked eyes with mine.  
I felt myself falling, like into a deep well, falling into the depths 
of those endless black orbs. 

“Me stupid, you catch me good.”  She chuckled, kissing me on the
forehead, the only part of my head she could reach.  “You kiss gooder 
too.  Come, have coffee.” 

We both hurriedly picked up cups and mopped up the spill before it could
eat through the wooden table. 

After that we became friends.  She figured I had conned her into
sleeping with me -- and maybe I had, or the hashish and alcohol had.  
She did hate Americans, with a violent passion. 

Anide, Anide Tabrum, was originally from Iran.  Her uncle and older
brother were killed in an Israeli attack while visiting family in Gaza. 
 The pre-teen blamed Israelis, and America, for everything from killing 
them to stopping up sinks.  I was her first, and only, American friend. 


She appreciated me kicking the ass of the other guy, a past lover she
hadn't been able to get rid of.  As far as I know, she never saw him 
again after that night.  Me, I was just lucky.  I've never been much of 
a fighter, or lover either as far as that goes. 

I was finally given a medical discharge, not only for my leg but also my
general attitude toward the army -- though I did get a small pension 
for the rest of my life.  Anide and I swapped addresses and, over the 
next few years, spoke once or twice on the telephone and wrote a few 
letters.  The last I heard, she had moved back to her homeland. 

I pretty much forgot about her.  Under the GI bill, I started and
finished college, with a bachelors degree in chemistry.  With my 
experience in using chemicals, I figured it would be a snap.  I was 
wrong in two respects; it was hard, damned hard, and I had to get off 
my own chemicals in order to study.  Yes, even the alcohol.  It might 
have seemed, at the time, that I thought clearer under drugs, but I 
found that was false thinking. 

I acquired a position working as a research assistant at the United
Airways Research Facilities.  Not the best of pay, but better than in 
the army.  I'd been far too busy studying, and now working, to think of 
marriage. By then a typical adult, I thought my wild days were behind 
me. 

Until, one fateful day, I answered my doorbell to find Anide standing
there, in all her beautiful and exotic splendor.  It was in May of 
2001. 

“Hello, John.  How are you?”  She stated seriously, speaking much better
English but with no sign of humor in her eyes, “I can come in for 
while?” 

Of course I let her in, giving her a brief hug which she returned. 

“What are you doing in the US, Anide?”  I asked, showing her to the
living room. 

“You have drink?”  she replied, sitting in an easy-chair and stretching
long legs out straight. 

“I don't know.  I quit awhile back.”  I thought a minute.  “I think I
have a little wine somewhere around here.  My friend, Mike, drinks it 
when he's here.” 

I found a partial bottle of cheap muscatel in a cupboard.  Turning, I
saw her standing in front of me.  She grabbed me around the neck, it 
was like old times, and kissed me.  About time she did that, I thought. 
I had been getting worried. 

“I love you, John.”  She smiled into my eyes. 

“C -- Come on, lets sit down.”  We went back to the living room.  “What
did you say about why you're in the US?” I tried to nudge an answer. 

“I -- I can't say.  Secret thing,”  she told me. 

Well, let her keep her secrets, I thought, thinking she'd keep no
secrets in bed. 

“I can stay here, just a little couple days?”  she asked confidently,
knowing me well. 

“Sure, honey.  You can stay as long as you want.” 

“You no ... girlfriend?  I think so.” 

“No, no girlfriend.  Only me here.”  Damn I was already starting to talk
like her.  I could imagine talking like that at work.  “Me do test you 
want, Boss.  Good test it be too.”  I laughed at myself. 

“What funny, you laugh?” 

“Nothing, Anide baby.”  I forced myself not to start. “You have any
bags?” 

“On the porch, I get.”  She put down her drink and started to rise. 

“Sit down.  I'll get them for you.” 

I had a spare bedroom but didn't bother, taking her bags directly to
mine.  I knew her as well as she knew me. 

We lived together for the next few months.  She would leave in the
mornings, sometimes for up to a week at a time.  I respected her 
privacy and never asked where she was going.  One time, something 
dropped out of her purse, though.  It was a slim card-holder with 
several ID cards in it.  I couldn't help being curious. 

The names on the cards were Abdulaziz Alomari, Marwan Alshehhi, and
her's -- Anide Tabrum.  I, of course, didn't think much of it.  Again, 
that was her business.  Later I thought that the first two could maybe 
have been involved in the 9/11 hijackings. 

As the first few days of September came and went, I sensed a change in
my lover.  She became nervous and irritable.  I simply chalked it up to 
that woman thingy stuff, and tried not to irritate her. 

She did put a lot of effort into lovemaking, becoming a feelie-touchy
person all of a sudden.  She took any opportunity to get me into bed, 
as though an asteroid were going to end the world the next day.  She 
had been on a diet and quit that.  I realized I hadn't known her for 
quite awhile, but she had seemed more stable in Germany. 

On the morning of Sept 10th, she left and never came back, leaving her
luggage behind but not even a note. 

Then came the attack on Sept 11th. 

*** 

Ever since then, I've been waiting to hear from her.  When the names of
the hijackers were released, I recognized the two on the IDs -- at 
least I think I did at the time.  Now, I can't be certain.  They are 
hard for a Westerner to remember reliably. 

I dream of Anide in the daylight -- and have nightmares at night.  Could
she do it?   I think, unfortunately, that she could.  She really did 
hate most Americans. 

Someday I hope, so far in vain, to hear that doorbell ring again.  Until
then I dream, daydream, cry and wait, and cry, and hope, and cry. 

The End.


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