The Paradise Stain. Nick Glade-Wright

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      ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

      Rosie Dubb and Danielle Wood, for their insightful manuscript assessments. Gaye Glade Wright for sharing her knowledge of autism from her teaching. Yeshe, for allowing me to use the words to his song ‘Eye for an Eye’. Enormous gratitude and respect to John (anonymous) for trusting me to share his story of abuse, in the hope that there can be more awareness and understanding of these crimes that keep happening throughout our world. Loro Mogga, for his friendship and music. Jacqueline Firth, for her love and sorting out the pronouns. Ormé Harris for her highly professional, perceptive and invaluable editing. Luke Harris of Working Type Studio for his creative work on the layout and cover design. And to JoJo Publishing for believing what I had written was worth putting out there.

       For Jacqueline

      Chapter One

      The young woman had barely moved during the interview. The swollen, pulsing vein on the side of her neck a mere hint at the depth of her trauma as the details of her ordeal lay carrion raw for viewers to pick over. Studio lights glared fiercely. Clasping bony, bloodless fingers, Abrar Abdullah waited, rigid, for the next question. Barry Kant sipped water from his glass, present ed a benevolent smile to his latest guest this asylum seeker, this boat person, this refugee, this Afghan, this human being.

      Kant touched his earpiece. The director had just given him two minutes to wrap things up before the audience were let loose with their customary questioning, prying and tactless.

      ‘Abrar, I believe your Muslim name means a devotion to God. I’m wondering whether you’ve been wrestling with your faith since your terrible loss.’

      Abrar frowned. ‘Rezling? What is … ?’ But she became momentarily distracted by the sound of titters, unkind ones, emanating from several mouths in the studio audience.

      ‘Well, let me put it this way, Abrar, so these people have time to run through your story in their minds once more.’ Kant’s encouraging tone belied the knot in his stomach. ‘So, you escaped the terrors of war torn Afghanistan with your husband Khaled and baby boy four years ago. You did this by surviving a perilous sea journey none of us would dream of undertaking, halfway round the world, completely at the mercy of unscrupulous people smugglers. You then endured two arduous years in detention, and finally … finally finding sanctuary in this beautiful island of Tasmania, safe at last and gaining Australian citizenship, your son Ali who … ’ Kant paused whilst Abrar dabbed at her erupting tears, tears that had so easily welled at the mention of her son’s name.

      While she struggled for composure Kant turned to Camera Two. ‘You are watching BKS nationwide, the show that probes the depths of people’s lives, and tonight I am in conversation with Abrar Abdullah, originally from Kabul, Afghanistan, who now lives in Launceston.’

      ‘Please, I am sorry,’ she whispered, as if the expression of her grief had been discourteous.

      ‘No need, Abrar.’ Kant smiled, paused for a skilful camera moment. ‘Ali would be four years old now. But he died senselessly due to an idiotic fireworks prank by drunken footballers outside your new home. So, can you tell the audience, Abrar, and the people at home watching this, whether all of this has affected your devotion to God?’

      Abrar lowered her brimming eyes before looking up to face the audience directly. Taut, proud, and with unambiguous conviction she stated, ‘It is God’s will.’

      Kant briefly looked towards Camera One, his mouth pinching minutely before returning to his guest. He had felt a flash of embarrassment but could now not help scrutinising her. Her hair would have been glossy black not so long ago. And those eyes! Kant knew great loss. But this!

      ‘And do you think it was God’s will that your husband Khaled should hang himself shortly afterwards?’

      Absurdly ironic, he thought, knowing that suicide and attempted suicide, even euthanasia, were prohibited in Islam. Abrar remained upright, dignified as she turned again towards the audience, who were open mouthed like fanatical supporters before the kicking of a deciding goal.

      ‘I will pray for his soul. ’

      Kant sighed, not for any camera this time. ‘It’s tough, Abrar, really tough. So I want to thank you for being so courageous in sharing your story tonight on BKS.’ And to Camera Two, ‘Abrar Abdullah is the final contestant on this third series of the Barry Kant Show.’ And to the audience, ‘So, now we’ve reached the part of the show where it’s your turn to ask Abrar your questions.’

      Kant faced Camera СКАЧАТЬ