Monday, 10 July 2017

The Wager

[Media prompt] Swedish feminists – fanatical boosters of multiculturalism – are now moving out of Muslim-heavy neighbourhoods not only because of the Muslim rapists but because of the Muslim “morality police,” who are less concerned with monitoring rapists than with controlling women’s conduct.

The Wager

Ever since they knocked down the church and built a mosque, the muezzin’s call to prayer had woken Elsa each morning before dawn.

“It’s beautiful,” she told her friends when they met at the local café. “There’s something … mystical about it.”

Everyone agreed, except Freja, an older women who had worked all her life on a production line at the Saab auto plant. Her hands were so big that the teaspoon she held looked tiny.

“Bullshit,” she said. “It’s the thin edge of wedge. Before we know it, they’ll be raping us in the streets.”

“That’s so reactionary,” said Elsa, looking at the others who nodded their heads. “The Church has held us down for so long.”

“Muslims are the true feminists,” said Liv, a professor of sociology at Stockholm University. “Besides, the data show Muslim males have no greater propensity to rape than locals. You’re just parroting alt-right garbage.”

Freja spat out a mouthful of coffee. “You people are delusional,” she said, sitting back in her chair, legs spread wide like a man. “I’ll make a bet with you.”

Liv glanced at the others as if to say, “This ought to be good.”

“A thousand euro,” said Freja, leaning forward to slap the table, tea cups and saucers clattering enough that the others picked them up. “Five thousand euro, let’s make it five. Five thousand euro says none of you’ll be living here in twelve months.”

“That’s absurd,” said Liv. “I’ve lived here for twenty years. Why would I move?”

“You tell me,” said Freja.

In the heat of the exchange, none of them had noticed Viggo, the café owner, standing quietly by the table.

“Excuse me,” he said, one hand massaging the other on his white apron. “I wonder if I could have a word.”

He stood silently for a moment, the women looking at him expectantly. The morning sun shone through the front window, reflecting off the snow outside. The only other customer, an elderly man dressed in a suit, turned the page of the Svenska Dagbladet. There was a story on the front page about a Muslim woman running for parliament.

“I’ve been asked to make some changes,” Viggo began. “I really don’t have a choice. Not if I want to stay in business. I would never suggest it … on my own, I mean.”

The women looked at him, then at each other.

“What are you going on about?” said Freja. “What changes?”

Viggo bent down, as if to whisper in their ears. “It’s the mosque,” he said. “They’ve requested we stop serving … you know, serving women.”

“Pardon?” said Elsa. “Women?”

“They say a café is a men’s only space,” he said, perspiration wetting his hairline.

Freja sat back and held out her hand. “Pay up,” she said. 

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