GABBY DANCES. On her head, she wears a crown of thorns. The music in the background is Middle Eastern or Greek; to the uninitiated, it’s hard to know the difference. She wears a dress made from multiple layers of gauzy veils. She removes veils one-by-one as she dances. The ground beneath her bare feet is loose dirt. Gabby throws up a puff of dust each time she kicks up her heels.
We are in a square surrounded by street-vendors who sell rugs, woven baskets, silk fabrics and linens, pottery, exotic fruits, vegetables, spices, and various other goo-gaws from tables arranged around the quadrangle. Sitting cross-leg in the dirt, I enjoy the entertainment.
After a while, the tempo of the music quickens. Gabby gyrates, revealing a glimpse of bare shoulder here, cleavage there. Pace increasing, Gabby begins to disrobe; a flash of taut belly, a nipple, a slice of creamy thigh. Around the square, the vendors take notice, no longer hawking their wares. They are mesmerized by Gabby and at the same time appalled, unwilling, or unable to avert their gaze. I try to warn Gabby, but she ignores me.
The first stone comes from nowhere. Missing Gabby, it falls harmlessly to the dirt. Gabby spins like a dervish. A second stone thrown by a young man with a dark complexion is large as a rock. It finds Gabby, strikes her full-force in the center of the forehead. Gabby drops to one knee. Collecting herself, she rises blood streaming from the crown of thorns.
Energized and incited, the crowd converges. They aim stones at Gabby like projectiles. Gabby is pummeled. I try to reach her, but the crowd has coalesced into a mob, making it impossible for me to break through. They chant unintelligible gibberish uttered in a frenzy of foreign tongues. Trampling men, women, and children indiscriminately, I grab and claw to get to Gabby.
Suddenly, from nowhere, a troop of American soldiers enters the square. They fire their weapons in the air. As quickly as the crowd has assembled, they disperse. Gabby stands alone dancing, bleeding and half-naked, kicking up the dust with her heels.
The leader of the troop approaches. To me, he says, Is this your partner, soldier? Yes, I say. And you sanction this operation?
Is he referring to the dance? Yes! I exclaim lustily, not without a measure of pride.
The leader turns to Gabby, who continues to dance with abandon, helter-skelter until she is completely naked. With an expression of contempt, she says to the troop leader: Judas! Without notice, he raises his weapon and shoots her straight between the eyes.