The Muslim and the Robot

NOTE: This is an excerpt. For the entire story, go to http://themuslimandtherobot.blogspot.com — I've formatted it so it should be much easier to read there.

CHAPTER 1

Once upon a time, in the not-too-distant future, a girl named Zubaida was exploring the ruins of an Israeli factory with her little brother Hasan. Their older brother, Mohammad, never allowed them to explore the ruins because he said they were too dangerous. Of course, this just made Zubaida and Hasan want to explore them even more. So while Mohammad was at work, that is exactly what they did.

Nobody lived near the old Israeli factory. The entire area had been heavily shelled in the most recent war. It was hot and very dusty, and as Zubaida led her brother down the lonely road towards the factory, she had to take care to avoid bomb craters.

"Sister, look! We are on the moon!" Hasan said. He pulled himself away from her grasp and began jumping up and down and across the smaller craters.

"Be careful, Hasan," said Zubaida. "If you fall down, you will get hurt, and then Mohammad will know we have been disobedient."

The factory was rust-colored and the roof was missing from the front half of the building. Zubaida could see all the big rooms and corridors and disused equipment inside. Clusters of wires stuck out from the broken walls. Glass, red brick and red steel beams littered the dusty ground.

"I'm thirsty," said Hasan.

They had no water, but the afternoon shade under the factory walls was inviting. Hasan sat down against one of them. The wall was open to the outside, but it stretched deep into the factory and eventually became shadowed by the remains of the roof on the far end.

"Sister, what do you suppose the Zionists built in this factory?"

"I am not certain. But why does it matter? I am just happy it is destroyed, praise be to God. The less factories the occupiers have here, the better."

"Did Father help destroy this factory?"

Zubaida's father and mother had died just after Hasan was born, when Zubaida was six. Mohammed liked to tell Hasan that their father was a great martyr and died in a battle with the Zionist regime. But in actuality, their mother and father were both randomly blown up when a shell landed near their grocery store.

"No," said Zubaida. "Well, perhaps he did. I do not know very much about his adventures. You will have to ask your brother when he comes back from work." Zubaida was not nearly as good as Mohammed at telling these stories so she passed them off upon him whenever she could. "But remember not to mention that we were here, Hasan!"

Just then Zubaida heard a clatter of metal from the far end of the big room. It looked like there was a pile of machinery where the sound came from. She quickly stood up and squinted into the darkness.

"Is anyone there?" she asked.

The machinery pile was in shadows, but Zubaida swore she saw a cluster of little blinking lights. Two of the lights were bigger than the rest, and they looked almost like glowing red eyes.

"Is someone there?"

There was no answer, but as Zubaida squinted the colored lights became clearer. They were attached to the outline of a thin figure. It had the outline of a head, a torso, arms and legs. Or—did it? One of its arms didn't look quite right. As she looked, the figure retreated a little further into the shadows. But its blinking lights were still visible, like little colored stars in an inky sky.

"Is it a Zionist?" said Hasan. The boy clutched Zubaida's arm. But she brushed him away.

Here is what Zubaida saw: it was a metal figure in the shape of a man. Its round head had two red lights where a human would have eyes, and speaker where a human would have a mouth. It had a torso and legs, all metallic-colored and tarnished, with blacks rubber tubes visible underneath the metal plates. But only one arm was attached to its body. Instead of a hand, it had three clicking metal pincers. Its limbs whirred and buzzed softly as it moved.


CHAPTER 2

Perhaps some people would be frightened of such a sight. But Zubaida was a brave girl. And as she approached, the figure held up its pincer hand to its face, as if it were afraid.

"Please do not come any closer," the figure said in Arabic. Its voice was monotone and tinny, a male voice.

Zubaida had of course heard stories about robots from her friends who had ventured to see Western science fiction movies. But never in a million years did she think they existed.

"We won't," said Zubaida. Hasan (who was quite frightened) peeked out from behind her. "But you do not need to be afraid of us. We are two Muslim children and we are not going to hurt you."

The robot made no move, but his red eyes blinked once quickly like a reset alarm clock, as if he were contemplating what Zubaida said.

"What happened to your arm?" said Zubaida.

With its remaining arm, the robot gestured to the bottom of the machinery pile. There was its other arm, lying on the ground.

"Oh," said Zubaida. "Does it hurt, where your arm is missing?"

"No."

"What is your name?"

"I do not have a name."

"But what do they call you?"

"My product number is Alef-Shnyin Hamisha," said the robot. Zubaida knew that these were Hebrew numbers and letters, though she did not know what they were.

"God have mercy," said Zubaida. "So you were manufactured by the Zionists?"

The robot did not answer. He only looked down at the machinery pile, and blinked his red eyes again.

"You were, weren't you," Zubaida said.  She had earlier untied her blue headscarf because there were no men around to see her and it was very hot. Now she wrapped it slowly around her head. At first, she did this without even thinking about it. She always wrapped her headscarf around her head when there were men or boys around to see her. But why did she feel compelled to cover her hair in front of the robot? Was the robot a man? Even with his monotone computer voice, he sounded like a man. Or perhaps more like a shy boy. There was something in the robot's actions which compelled Zubaida to act as if he were a real boy.

Did that mean that the robot had a soul?

"Let me ask you a very important question," said Zubaida. "Are you a Muslim?"

"A Muslim?" said the robot. "I do not know. What does it mean to be a Muslim?" The colored lights on its chest began to blink rapidly.


For the rest of the story, visit
http://themuslimandtherobot.blogspot.com