The Girl in The Green Scarf

T w e n t y - t w o

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
SEBASTIAN

 “Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we often might win, by fearing to attempt.” 
― Jane Addams

Frustrated, I double click on the last link on my search's result page, knowing in advance what will pop up on my laptop's screen.

The website you are attempting to access has been blocked.

I groan, all but smashing my laptop against the wall.

This is the millionth link that I found blocked so far. Two hours of search, hundreds of different search entries and tags, and no useful results.

Oh, I found some things alright. But nothing that I did not already know; Islam is the enemy, Muslims are terrorists, women are oppressed in Muslim countries, Muslims are barbaric, Islam is anti-Semitic. The typical drill.

But it is the things that Muslims say in their defense – there ought to be people who actually believe in that crap and are willing to write about it on the World Wide Web – that I could not get my hands on.

I know father has low tolerance for rubbish, but it makes no sense to block every single website.

I mean what if I’d like to know the mistakes others are committing to steer clear of them.

It cannot be that bad now, can it? At least I know not all of it is from what I’ve seen firsthand.

I shift my lying position when I get tired of being on my empty stomach. I end up on my back, dangling my legs off the back of the living room’s couch and placing my laptop on my belly.

I catch two young female attendants who are carrying piles of towels looking at me and they immediately divert their gazes away, covering their mouths to stifle their giggles.

The mansion is abuzz today. Attendants have been coming and going all morning, fixing about things which are already in place, filling the vases with freshly cut flowers and just making a fuss out of everything.

It is funny how a month ago there were only one attendant and now it looks like there are a dozen. Something is happening but I am not interested in knowing what.

“Mr. Walsh would you like a refill on your coffee? Or maybe something to eat?” Mathilda, the new housekeeper says to me – Alex wasn’t making this up after all.

“No I’m good,” I say with a dismissive nod.

I am actually not good at all. In fact my stomach has been growling for an hour now, but I don’t want to get distracted from my search.

“Alright sir, just let me know when you need anything.”

It is hard to concentrate in midst of all the noise. I don’t know why I am in the living room and not in the sanctuary of my bedroom in the first place, but I know I am too lazy to climb up the stairs now.

So I try to ignore the giggling girls, the deafening football game on Television – I am also too lazy to reach for the remote controller and lower the volume – and the sound of the vacuum cleaner.

Eventually it becomes too much and I slip on my headphones. Rock music blares in my ears and popping my head to the rhythm, I return to my so-far fruitless search.     

Another hour passes before I find something remotely useful. Probably due to a bug in father’s blocking system.

It is a blog of sorts, written by a woman from London who goes by the name Umm Zahra.