#in the name of world peace even though he’s been a seventeen-timing terrorist this whole time? fucking legendary if we’re being honest

[cinnamnt]

i think revolver ocelot is one of the best characters in anything ever

[asifzstories]

The Cafe which was Muslim Free

(the city of Nashville in this story doesn’t refer to the US town, neither the country where the story is happening is America. When I began to write, Nashville, as the name of the city, came itself to me. I thought I would change it later - I did not. I decided to keep it. Merry Christmas.

Asif Tamoso, 25 December 2018)

The cafe was full of life. Life, what US scientists were searching for, in the space. In other planets. The cafe had it all. Because the cafe did not have Muslims. It was a Muslim free cafe, first of its kind, located in the heart of Nashville city. The city with a background story of a long-forgotten crusade, which shaped its folklore, elegies and poetry, once upon a time . The citizens were relieved when they found a cafe where no Muslim were allowed. This is what each of them were waiting for, when their sleep of night was disturbed with woes and worries  - when Muslims started to immigrate to Nashville. The color of the city changed from blue and green and orange and yellow and silver to pitch black, in a matter of days. In such a short notice. All the sparkles were lost. Somebody felt the responsibility to provide some relief for these good people of the town. To cheer them up. That somebody, was Mister Rogers Peterson, a lifelong bachelor who dedicated his life to the art of cooking. His life was nothing but soup and porridge, and the scent of freshly steamed rice. That was all he knew about. He was a man who was cooking happiness for the entire city, from a long period of time. He knew how to bring pleasure to the taste bud. He knew it too perfectly. So, when the town was unhappy, he could not stand it. Not a lot of Muslims have came to the city. Only a few. Whatever the number of this new arrival, it was enough. The city could hardly bear a single Muslim. This is when the people of the town noticed they were growing old, and things were bound to change. Mr Thomas stopped playing his piano for a few days, in case the Muslims complain. He could not trust them. Mr Henry removed his antiques from display on his store's window. He did not want to offend the Muslims with miniatures of Goddess Sekhmet. And he definitely did not want his store to be vandalized. Mr Phillipe covered the adult magazines with newspapers in his news booth, he did not want the angry Muslims to pull his collar and ask explanation for public nudity. Even the young lovers of the town were now scared to go to a dating or meet in parks. They were always feeling like a Muslim is watching. The feeling was uncomfortable, and sometimes, repulsive. They wanted to protest. They wanted to cry against this sudden disorder of things. But they could not help it. They were powerless. They felt like somebody hijacked them all, and they are now being held hostage in a plane. Somebody, took away all their freedom. The city began to feel like a prison. Everybody has to watch their back all the time, because nobody knows when the Muslims will come. However, the Muslims were busy in a construction site, making a new building. They lived together in a cottage meant for the workers. They hardly came out, except when they needed food. Then one or two Muslims were seen on the road, with a bag or a basket, asking people for the farmer's market. To buy some vegetables. But the way they said 'As-salam-alaykom' instead of 'Good Morning', between and among themselves when not with everybody else in the world, gave people jump scares. This was a phrase they had only heard in the radio or TV earlier. Now the horror was right in front of them. More scary was the Prayer Call, 'Allahu-Akber Allahu-Akber', which sounded like gibberish at the beginning. Then everybody had to listen to it day and night. Sometimes, three times a day, sometimes, five. If they were unfortunate enough to live somewhere around that construction site. Things were running down. Things were getting worse day by day. Everybody could feel it. Everybody could see it. Though few wanted to talk about it. Because even walls have ears. And nobody wanted the walls to listen, even to their thoughts. Never in history the city was struck with a tragedy like this. A tragedy on a large scale, affecting everybody. The Nashville before the Muslims came and the Nashville after - was obviously not the same. The politicians and the city council refused to help. Because they were just not sure how to. They did not want things to get to the media. They were trying to turn the whole city into a hideout from the whole world. As if Nashville did not exist. As if Nashville was never there. What could they say, after all, if the reporters asked them what is the reason behind all this suffering! Muslims? That would brand them as 'Islamophobes'. More dangerous was the thought that it would probably make to the international press if they made an unwise remark about Muslims, and then Jihadists would not spare their city. That brave politician who would make such a remark and speak on behalf of people, would probably get killed. There was no doubt about it. Nobody was ready for that. Nobody was ready for it all. But the Muslims came anyway. And they disturbed the peace of Nashville, a city where life was sweet before. Now the couples and lovers did not dare to kiss even in the darkness of the movie theaters. Kissing on the streets, as before, was out of question. Everybody had to take precautionary measurements. Everybody was worried. Everybody was sick. A plague would have been better. An epidemic or something. But this! Then Mr Rogers Peterson made a bold move. He decided to show some courage, and let those bastards know they were not a bunch of rats. He could no longer tolerate this Tom & Jerry situation between a few, a handful of Muslims and the old Christian Citizens of Nashville, the large majority population who were threatened by the presence of a small diaspora of an immigrant minority.   Mr Rogers Peterson opened a new cafe. He named it 'The Haram Heaven'. And when people saw it, they wept their tears, dribbling from their faces. It was the tears of joy. At last! At last somebody came forward. At last somebody decided to save them. At last somebody cared. Somebody risked everything, to make everything right again. Mr Rogers put a large signboard on the door of his cafe, which said, 'This cafe is a Muslim free zone, and free WiFi is available here'. It was a joke. It sounded like Muslims did not have free WiFi, or probably, free wives. Their wives were not free. The Muslim wives, never came out in public. Nobody ever saw them. Nobody had a glance on their faces, nobody knew how they looked like. The city assumed they were practicing their Islamic veil. But Mr Rogers was very serious about his 'Muslim free' statement. He wrote exactly what he meant, each word of it. And it increased his respect in the eyes of the common people, who were suffering from insomnia from so long! This was their medicine. Their sleeping pill has finally arrived. Now they could go to sleep. Mr Rogers himself became a celebrity overnight. People wanted to give him awards, the schools wanted to pay him their respects, thousands wanted to donate in his business. So, it didn't take very long to make his business grow. His cafe was the most popular of the town. However, Mr Rogers declined those awards, humbly. There was this Morning Shine University which claimed Mr Rogers was theirs alumni. But Mr Rogers rejected the idea that Morning Shine University was his Alma Mater. He still received an envelope with a honorary degree certificate from Morning Shine anyway. He did not know what to do with it. Over time, the craze went away, but the popularity of his cafe remained, exactly where it was at the beginning. Other cafes & restaurants felt jealous at him, because they were now suffering from a huge profit loss. Everybody flocked to 'The Haram Heaven'. The walls of 'Haram Heaven' was decorated with pictures of victims of Islam. The 9/11 incident was the subject of the largest painting of the north wall. The south wall had a long list of quotes from notable critics of Islam, like Ayan Hirsi Ali, Salman Rushdie,  Taslima Nasreen, Maryam Namazie, Theo Van Gogh, Ali Sina etc. The wall on the west side said, 'Islamophobia keeps Nashville tension free'. The eastern wall had a painting of Hijab, and it said, 'get ready for it'. In the ceiling, where the fans were, Mr Rogers painted a graffiti. It said, ' Je Suis Charlie!' This was the walls. The menu was even more extra-ordinary. With each recipe, there were instructions how to use it in case of an emergency situation, which is, definitely a terrorist attack. Like throwing the hot soup right in the face of the terrorist, or using the forks to drill a hole in the body of the terrorist, as the last resort. Each table had a pepper spray on it. The customers could use it on the eyes of their perpetrators if they attacked the cafe. This Kung fu style ideas of fighting terrorists did not sound very real, though. But it reminded everybody what Muslims were capable of doing, and what they could do - in self defense. There were five news racks in five separate corners of the cafe. Each of them was full of clippings of news reports about latest terrorist attacks. Two book selves, containing inspirational books about fighting Muslims throughout history, were placed right beside the counter where the employees were taking the dirty dishes and trays in and out of the kitchen.   Mr Rogers hired seventeen policemen from Nashville Police Department to guard his cafe all the time. They were always there. It gave the people in the cafe a sense of safety.   And they were having fun. They were dancing in the cafe, hugging, kissing, liplocking - doing everything human beings are meant to do in their life, once they are born. And definitely, they were eating. The previous experience when the Muslims first came to Nashville was not very different from starving. Though nobody had to starve. But this time, it felt like eating to heart's desire, the way they wanted to eat, the way they wanted to stab the meat with the fork and put it in their mouth, and the way they wanted to chew it. This time, every bite of it, literally was bringing pleasure. The real satisfaction. And of course, they were drinking as well. The 'Haram Heaven' offered them everything in the world that is Haram, which included wine, bacon, frogs, falcon, gelatin, smokes, cigars, marijuana and even dog meat. The customers were specially encouraged to taste the dog meat, because the reputation of selling dog meat in the cafe would forever keep the Muslims at bay. Even the dog lovers didn't mind. Everything was perfectly well. Absolutely wonderful, to be precise. The city got back its life. Though everybody knew the day would come, everybody knew it in their heart, that this Cafe would not be spared - but they continued to denied it. They were enjoying what they had. This was all left in the city. Because the lifestyle of people had to undergo a change, and it did not return to normal. Or, what it was before. Not completely. And the day came. Five months after opening the cafe. When a stranger, that is what the people of the city called him, came from some other city to visit his relatives in the town and noticed the cafe. Three days later, the word was out. That a cafe like this was in existence, in Nashville. It was in the newspapers, all of them with a national circulation. It was in the TV. It was in the radio. It was in the internet. It was everywhere. The stranger came to the cafe, and despite the strict watch of the police guards, he managed to take selfies in every nook and corner of 'The Haram Heaven'. Those selfies were published with his face edited out and blurred, in the bloody media. Next day, the city was on alert. The President himself sent Mr Rogers an urgent email, requesting to change the name of his cafe. A truckload of military was sent to guard the area. Check posts were placed on every entrance of Nashville, to prevent unwanted people from entering the city. And in the capital, there was a protest against 'this kind of Islamophobia'. People in the press called Mr Rogers a racist. The very Christian people. A new cafe opened in response, which had a similar signboard in it's door, saying, 'This cafe is Racist free, and Arab foods are available here.' Mr Rogers refused to change the name of his cafe. No matter how heavy the pressure was. He said it was his right as a citizen of this country and a resident of Nashville to name his cafe the way he wants it. Which brought further controversy. Further shaming. But he stood firm, right where he was. But now the cafe was less frequented. It was still popular, but not day and night, as it used to be. People only came in the evening, though they came in a large number. The way it was, in first five months. However, the anxiety returned. Again a gloom was cast on the city. But here in Nashville, everybody was supporting Mr Rogers. Other than the Muslims, who barely knew how to speak in English. They had to use a dictionary while conversing with other people. Everybody prayed and hoped they would not get to know what was happening, that they would remain in the dark about all this situation. It was not known whether they came to know about what was happening or not, but no reactions were coming from their side, for the time being. And everybody prayed for the death of that stranger. As soon as possible. He was responsible for all this. He was to blame for this mess. Nobody in Nashville allowed the thought of blaming Mr Rogers in their mind. No, Mr Rogers was doing what everybody else wanted to do. The difference is, others did not have the courage. Then, at 25th of May, seven days after the media blunder, the City Mayor intervened. He arrived in his Toyota Century Royal limousine with his chauffeur and his personal bodyguards right on the cafe's door, and stepped out of it. His feet touched the soil. Everybody was surprised, and wowed, to describe it accurately. 'Look, the Mayor himself!' 'Mr Steven Cox!''Mr Cox is here!' 'The Mayor'!'Mr Mayor'! 'Oh look!' Then the crowd stopped shouting. They tried to keep their manners and etiquette. But Mr Rogers already heard the noise. He came out to check what was happening, whether the terrorists were finally here. Instead, he saw something else. He saw a man wearing a blue sun-glass with a group of people who looked like security guards with a thin string plugged in their ears which looked like earphones. He tried to recognize the face in the middle. The man who had a large grin on his face. Where did he see it before? He saw it somewhere, but who could it be? He could not remember. Then somebody yelled from behind, 'Our Mayor, Mr Rogers'! The Mayor of Nashville! What on earth! Mr Rogers was utterly dumbfounded for a moment. Then he returned to his senses. 'Welcome Mr Mayor! What brings you here? Tell me what could I do for you!' 'Nothing much, really! I just wanted to taste a dessert in your cafe, whatever you have for me!' 'Sure! Of course, of course! What luck of mine!' Mr Rogers was mixing up his words. He did not know himself what he was saying, or what to say exactly. He was in a state of shock and surprise, both. Now he remembered where he saw Steven Cox. In the papers. In the websites as well. How could he forget? Drat! But his words began to make sense in a couple of minutes. He rushed to the door and opened it. Then he wanted to fly to the counter to bring the menu, although that was not necessary. Everything was perfectly well. There was no apocalypse going on. There was no earthquake. But Mr Rogers was tremendously surprised, more than the e-mail from President.   Specially because Mr Rogers have never encountered such big people before, face to face. What is the protocol? He did not know what to do, but he tried his best. There was a biggie in his restaurant. There was his chance to snap a picture with him, and hang it on the wall. If he allows, of course. In the next few minutes, Mr Rogers figured out the reason behind this surprise visit. Sort of. The reporters were not here. The photographers were not hunting him down. Only the people. His employees. And Mr Rogers himself. The bodyguards took a table of their own, at the second floor. Mr Cox chose a different table, beside the window. There was a landscape visible from there, through the glass. Which looked down on the street. His limousine was parked inside the garage underground. People on the road could not see it. For now, there was no reason people could trace him here, unless somebody calls the press. Mr Cox and Mr Rogers both assumed people here don't know the number of the press. Besides, the excitement did not last more than fifteen minutes. Everything was as usual now. A few employees, interested to have a glance at the Mayor's face, were peeking through the peephole of the kitchen door. That was all. 'Mr Cox, you remind me of this Islamic Khalifa, his name was Umar or something, he used to give surprise visits to his people. I have studied a lot about it, hence I know.' The Mayor burst out in laughter. 'Do I look like an Islamic Khalifa to you?' 'Definitely not. You look like the Mayor of Nashville to me.' 'Thank Goodness! I thought I lost my face, and have to see the doc for plastic surgery to restore it. Nice to know I still look like myself.' 'Oh, you do! You perfectly look like Mr Cox. And I don't think you're an imposter'. The laughing continued for a while. Then the Mayor asked for the menu. He chose white wine with Pork Salad. This was his favorite breakfast, although it was afternoon. Mr Rogers ordered all the chefs in the kitchen to get the Pork Salad to the table in two minutes. And so was done. The wine was served in a silver chalice, which was kept in the kitchen self for special occasions. Mr Cox began to eat. And a clapping sound was heard from the kitchen. Some idiot was clapping his hands. The Mayor did not give a damn about it. He asked a question instead. - 'So, tell me Mr Rogers, have you seen anybody around your cafe with a knife or dagger recently?' - 'Is there somebody like that?' - 'I don't know for sure. I'm just asking. There is no reason to feel concerned right now, as far as our report goes.' Mr Rogers did not know the mayor was keeping reports on his cafe. That was yet another surprise. - 'You mean, the reports in your police department?' - 'Yes.' - 'I'm thankful you are keeping things on check.' - 'I have to. This is my city. It's my duty to look after the citizens. Let me tell you one thing, my first concern is the safety of people here in Nashville. And I won't let nobody mess with it.' - 'Oh, I know Mr Cox, I know!' - 'If somebody tries to do a freaking shit, he will pay a heavy price for that. I assure you. This is Nashville.' - 'Yes, I know. If some Muslims...' - 'Yes. If some Muslims.' Both hated the M-word. And they both knew it. Why shouldn't they? Should they love Muslims? Is there a reason to love them? Those freaking creatures? Bunch of ultra-religious freaks! All they want is to make everybody in the world surrender to their Allah. If you don't surrender, you know what then... Shit! They both wished Muslims weren't here. They both wished they could still go to  Middle East. The whole Arabia is waiting for them. One thousand and one Arabian nights. But these people, they are like leeches. They suck your blood. And they don't like it in Saudi, because they can't fuck around. Here in Nashville, sex is free, unlike their goddamn Holy Saudi Arabia! These people, once they are here, stays here. They don't go. They don't leave. They don't exit. Because, the Haram is indeed the heaven. And the Halal is hell. Mr Cox finished his Pork Salad by now. The plate was empty. It was bearing the witness that somebody ate this Haram food served on it. That was impossible in Holy Islamic lands. The wine chalice was still sparkling. Mr Cox took a few sips while he was eating. Now the plate was taken away, and he took the glass in his hand. He poured down the wine in his throat. Cheers! 'Cheers to Haram Heaven, Mr Rogers! I make this toast for you.' 'Cheers to Haram Heaven, Mr Cox!' The words were repeated by Mr Rogers. Should he give him some more? This was the finest wine in his stock. He should have had something better. A Vodka, perhaps? Or a real old Rum?   'Here is my card, Mr Rogers!' His thoughts were interrupted. 'Do call me whenever you need me. I am always there for you. You don't know what a great favor you have done to humanity by opening this restaurant. Humanity needed this. Humanity needs Haram.' Mr Rogers couldn't agree more. 'I felt like I should do this. I should give people some hope. That hope is still there. Everything is not gone. That is why I started this cafe.' 'And Mr Rogers, if you don't mind - I want to make some donations for Haram Heaven. Personally. It won't make to the papers. If you accept...' 'Oh Mr Cox, that's so kind of you...' 'This is nothing about kindness, Mr Rogers! This is a symbol of gratitude for what you have done for the city. This is thanksgiving. For everything you have done, everything you have went through. I know you went through a lot.' 'Oh, I didn't mind. I could go through even more for what I consider is right. I knew what I was doing was the right thing to do in my conscious, and I did it.' 'And the entire city is grateful for that.' The thirty-three minutes affair ended at this point. The Mayor now had to go back to his office. This was the heart of Nashville. The center of the city. The afternoon was happening here. In the 'Haram Heaven'. The Mayor gave Mr Rogers a blank cheque. To put on an amount as he wished. And then the man left, in his limousine. Mr Rogers too, went back to his kitchen. The evening came, as it comes. The people came. Mr Rogers forgot to snap a picture with the Mayor. He didn't mind. He had the cheque. With Steven Cox signed on it. He wrote $250 on it. That was the price of the White Wine and Pork Salad combined together, not more than that. He got busy with his work, as usual. On the streets, the chauffeur was still driving the limousine. The Mayor did not go back to his office. He went somewhere else instead. It was the construction site. Where those Muslims lived. He went to see the Muslims. This part of the city has become empty a bit. Everybody left. Those who couldn't, are still planning to move somewhere else. Basically, it looks like the Arabian desert now. This time, one of his bodyguards began to speak. He was the interpreter. He knew Arabic.  The Mayor didn't. It was not hard to find the Muslims. They were sleeping in the cottage, like hens in a cage. In a poultry farm or something. Mr Cox could see the resemblance. Very clearly. He had something else in his mind. This was his chance. To boost his popularity. He was doing nothing wrong, he knew. He was doing the same thing that Rogers did. Without making a bloody signboard out of it. His bodyguards were not the police. However, they were carrying a handcuff. They took out one of the Muslims and put it on his hands. - 'What's your name, kiddo?' Asked the guard with the cuffs. The Muslim man didn't understand what the question was. - 'Name! Name!' - 'Ibrahim!' - 'Well Abreyhim, you are now in our custody.' Although the limousine did not look like a police van, Ibrahim was forced to get into it. Then the car started. It stopped at Mayor's residence. It was already midnight. It took the rest of the night to make Ibrahim understand why was he required here and what was he supposed to do. The dawn broke. Ibrahim couldn't believe it himself. But the man spoke to him in Arabic. He said there was a restaurant in Nashville which was selling Haram foods, not only that, it was mobilizing people to launch an attack on Muslims. All of them in their poultry farm. All the hens were about to be slaughtered. And the Mayor felt it was his duty to prevent this attack and to teach those Islamophobes a good lesson. He was even planning to convert to Islam, secretly. But he couldn't tell it to the world. Ibrahim was to kill them all. Everybody in the cafe. He couldn't do that. Although he was dressed like a Nashville citizen, although his pistol was loaded with bullets, although he was forced to memorize all those things in English he was to say. He managed to fire a shot at Mr Rogers, by the way. Then he was shot down. By the security guards of the 'Haram Heaven'. It happened the next morning. All hell broke loose. The screaming was probably heard from the Mayor's office as well. The whole Nashville screamed. Mr Rogers was spot dead. Ibrahim was taken to the hospital. The police wanted him to survive, so that he can deliver them the necessary information about which terrorist organization he was working for and where else they planned to attack. Ibrahim couldn't give them those valuable info. An oxygen mask was put on his mouth. His body trembled for a while, till it was removed. The doctors declared him dead. Before he could be interrogated, his soul left his body. Probably to the Islamic heaven this time. The Mayor condemned the attack. He ordered an eviction. The Muslims were evicted from their cottage in the construction site. They were to be sent in jail. A candle light vigil was organized in the memory of Rogers Peterson. The vigil traveled the whole city, and went to the capital afterwards. The President himself expressed his condolences, though Mr Rogers did not have a wife. His funeral was attended by his aunt, an old lady who was about to die within a few days herself. She knew nothing about it. She had no idea. The media who was speaking of Mr Rogers in harsh tone before has mellowed down now. He was the hero of Nashville at the moment. Not just Nashville, he was the hero of the entire nation. But the President ordered the national security to be tightened. He was fearing another terrorist attack. Just like this. The fact is, everybody was fearing the same. The cafe had to close down. Finally. It couldn't continue its business. Nobody was there to look after it. Nobody wanted to die, in the hands of Muslim terrorists. They refused to die. They would fight back, they said. They would force out the terrorists from this country, they would catch them all, wherever they could find them. Things were almost at the verge of a civil war. However, the war did not start. The President had only a few months left in his term. And the Mayor of Nashville, Steven Cox - was running for his post this time. After all, he was the one who caught those terrorists and took them to the court. They were sentenced to life imprisonment, the attorneys were working to make the jail time even longer. Because they deserved to die and get buried in jail. Eighteen Muslims, altogether. They were associated with Jaish-e-Muhammed and the fund was coming from Turkey. They were using the camouflage of construction workers to operate in this country. They chose Nashville as it was the best place to further their agenda. The cafe was the perfect target to anger the whole Middle East and inspire them to wage a holy religious war on this country. This was what the National Security Department had found out about them. The investigation did not stop. It was continuously going on. On and on. Because if they were to save this country, they had to trace down all the terrorists. Otherwise, nobody was safe. Mr Roger's death sparked a global protest. It was not an internal business anymore. Even the Muslims protested, against Rogers Peterson and his filthy mind. The whole Middle East was celebrating the death of a man they never ever heard about in their life. In that part of the world, Ibrahim has become the hero. Slogans were heard in the streets in a hundred Muslim languages, which basically said, 'We are all Ibrahim'. The savage Muslims even offered prayers to Allah, for the peace of his soul. In too many countries. Jaish-e-Mohammed claimed the responsibility of the attack and issued a statement. They were hailing Ibrahim as well. In the Christian nation where it happened, some conspiracy theorists were busy to figure out a way of shifting the blame to Mr Rogers himself, or the President. They said the President engineered and scripted the whole event himself, and Rogers was used as a pawn. But they were discarded, more or less. But suddenly a Christian nation which was little known before took the central stage of the world. For a few days, of course. After that, everybody forgot about it. When things died down. Mr Steven Cox was still smoking his Havana Cigar, in his office. This was the expensive kind. He started to smoke Cigars after getting the National Award, the leader of the year. He took out this piece out of the packet at this morning. A melodious song was playing in his computer from then, in a repeat motion. It was afternoon already. The cigar was not burnt to the halfway yet. He could not finish smoking it.

Asif Tamoso

02 & 03 December, 2018